Love and Other Accidents
by paperclipz
Summary: Done! A modern P and P. Darcy and Bingley are musicians trying to find material for their new album in a rural college town...where they meet the Bennet twins who are surviving college together. Lizzy's a photographer, and Jane's a med student.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Once upon a time, there was a bet, involving a lot of whiskey, a poem, and a guitarist called Will Darlington. Under his drunken fingers, John Donne's "Elegy 20: To His Mistress Going to Bed" became a clumsy but enthralling song of seduction. His best friend and ex-roommate, Charles Bingley IV, based his senior thesis on his memories of that night; with a double major in English and Music, a compilation of compositions with a great literature for lyrics seemed just the thing to supplement his diploma.

Of course, he had to gather a band. He started with Will Darlington and added Richard Fitzwilliam, a twenty-six year old umemployed drummer and Will's cousin, when he realized that both he and Will played only guitar and bass. Richard Fitzwilliam was already fondly called "Fitz" among friends, so Will and Charlie began using "Dar" and "Bing" on stage. At Boston University's Open Mic Night, Charlie signed them in as "B.F.D.," because he was short on time and had his hands full with his instruments.

These last two paragraphs made up the first five minutes of VH1's Behind the Music's take on the new Pop Rock sensation B.F.D. Their success story was attributed mainly to these three things:

1. The rags-to-riches story of a small college band making it big.

2. The popularity of the song "Fire and Ice," based on Robert Frost's poem—immediately after its release in mid-September 2001, and then, the popularity of their next hit "Do I contradict myself?" based on part of Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself."

3. A cover of the _Rolling Stones_ (in October 2001) that--as the _LA Times_ raves--"won America's heart." On the cover, Fitz—with a crest of red hair and his usual expression of half-bored mischief, is in the background, absentmindedly drumming on a seated Bing's head, who endures it with his usual good humor (and all-American good looks), but it is the one called Dar who draws the eye. He is staring straight at the photographer, all very dark eyes and harsh, rigid attention, with his mouth tight and his hands clasped behind his back. There is something alluring in Fitz's playfulness, Bing's charm, and Dar's guardedness; consequently, most of the band's early income was made from posters of that one photo.

They had two albums—one self-entitled and the other called _Singing Shakespeare and Dreaming Donne_--and one tour. The fact of the matter was that their second album hadn't sold as well as their first, and music critics were already whispering of "one or maybe two hit-wonders." It was generally believed that the band's popularity rested on their third album. So, after they finished the tour, they decided to return to their roots for better song-writing material: Fitz went home to his wife, and Bing and Dar rented a mansion (location not disclosed to the general public), one rather close to a small university campus.


	2. Opening With a Bing

1.

It is well understood that on college campuses, particularly those with a 30-70 male-to-female ratio, the arrival of a new and attractive young man is a cause for some excitement (and a lot of primping). So, when a rock star moved into the mansion built by the founder of the town and school, the female students of Vickroot University gossiped accordingly.

Charlotte Lucas dropped a sack of books on the couch, titles like _Picasso's Pleasures_ and _Luxuries of Leonardo's Age_ gleaming gold along the spines. "Guess what?"

The Bennet twins had spread their own books over their apartment's kitchen table. Jane had braided her long, red hair neatly back, but Lizzy had pens stuck through her short brown ponytail.

"You've finished your Art History thesis," guessed Jane Bennet, barely glancing up from the anatomy textbook in front of her, "so you now know you're definitely going to graduate."

"The totally hot and wealthy teaching assistant you've been after finally proposed," said Lizzy, reaching for her mug of peppermint tea and sipping it.

"Even better," Charlotte promised. "Someone's renting Netherfield."

"Really?" Jane flipped a page and uncapped a hilighter. "It's been closed since my junior year of undergrad."

"Which one's Netherfield?" Lizzy asked Jane, pushing away from the table.

"Come on, Lizzy," Charlotte scoffed. "You ski around Netherfield all the time."

"Oh, the mansion?" said Lizzy, standing. "The really big one behind the university? I thought it was condemned.—Anybody want any tea, while I'm up?"

"No, I'm good," Jane mumbled in the general direction of her textbook. Then, she looked up. "Hey, do we have any coffee left?"

Charlotte threw up her arms, desperate to share the news. "Guess who's renting it!"

"The Olson twins," said Lizzy, pouring coffee beans into the grinder and letting it run.

Charlotte snorted. "Would I really be this excited if Mary Kate and Ashley moved in next door?"

"Guess not." Jane smirked. "Brad Pitt, then?"

"Bing," announced Charlotte, smugly. "Charles Bingley."

"What?" yelped Jane.

"Who?" asked Lizzy.

Charlotte pretended to swoon, flopping on the couch and kicking off her heels. "I know."

"Bing?" gasped Jane, staring at Lizzy as if she couldn't believe they'd shared a womb. "As in the B. of B.F.D.?"

"That's the one," sighed Charlotte.

"Oh, my God," said Jane.

"Wait—which one?"

"Charles Bingley is the one of the guitarist-vocalists for the band B.F.D., my poor musically-challenged friend," began Charlotte. "He's tall and blond and dimpled. And loaded, too."

"Which one is B.F.D., though?" Lizzy asked.

"We went to their concert last summer, Lizzy," Jane reminded Lizzy.

"We went to a lot of concerts last summer," Lizzy reminded Jane.

"I have their poster in my room," Charlotte told Lizzy.

"You have at least fifty posters in your room," Lizzy told Charlotte, laughing.

"Hold on; I'll put on their CD," Jane said. "You'll remember them when you hear them."

"They're the band that uses literature and poetry in their lyrics," Charlotte explained, as Jane dashed off to her room to collect her CD's. "You know, like their song 'If I' came from William Carlos Williams' 'Dance Russe,' and 'Come away to prison' came from _King Lear_."

"I remember that one!" cried Lizzy, wrinkling her nose and scowling. "That was Lear talking to Cordelia; that should've never become a love song."

"That's what everyone says, Lizzy!" shouted Jane from her room. "But it's still a beautiful song. You can't just hate something, because it comes in a different package than you're used to."

"That was deep, Janey," grinned Lizzy.

"Come," sang Charlotte, in a throaty, off-tune soprano, "let's away to prison. We two alone will sing/like birds in a cage."

"Got it!" cried Jane, gleefully, coming out of her room and diving at the stereo. "I can't believe you don't remember them, Lizzy; this is their first hit. It's from Robert Frost's 'Fire and Ice.' This one's Dar singing (he's the other vocalist), but you'll remember this one."

A low, mournful a-cappella spilled out of the speakers, _(Some say the world will end in fire)_ and the melancholy of its notes hung in the air between them _(some say in ice)._

"Uh-oh," said Lizzy _(From what I've tasted of desire)._

"What?" asked Charlotte and Jane together _(I hold with those favor fire)_.

"Wasn't this the concert where you got trashed and I got food-poisoning?" Lizzy asked Jane.

The pluckings of a guitar interrupted Jane's attempt to remember. "Oh, fuck," she muttered, covering her face. "It was."

Charlotte dropped out the chair and grabbed Jane's arm. "Is this the same one where you accidentally left Lizzy in the dressing room of one of the band members?"

"It was unlocked," Jane protested, "and all I noticed is that it had its own bathroom for Lizzy to puke in."

"You were pretty trashed, though," Lizzy reminded her.

"You're one to talk," said Charlotte smirking, "if you were the one puking."

"_Food _poisoning," Lizzy emphasized.

"She wasn't drinking; she was our designated driver," Jane admitted. "So, I had to go off and try to figure out a ride for us."

"So, you had to leave me," Lizzy continued, "without a cell phone in a strange man's dressing room."

"A strange man you didn't recognize," Jane retorted.

"No..." breathed Charlotte, disbelievingly glancing from Jane to Lizzy.

"I saw a lot more of the toilet bowl than anything else," Lizzy shrugged.

"What did you say?" Charlotte asked.

"Oh, the usual rants," Lizzy grinned.

"She slammed his album to his face," Jane said. "'Play On' took a real beating, didn't it?"

"Okay—I really like _Twelfth Night_ and all, but singing 'If music be the food of love, play on' seems to be a little too exploitive of the whole literature-as-lyrics novelty," Lizzy protested. "And then, the whole 'Are you ready, sir?'/'I prithee, sing' deal at the beginning of the song—at a certain point, that's not cute anymore, right?"

"You told him all this?" Charlotte asked, and when Lizzy nodded, she laughed. "Why didn't he kick you out? Why didn't he call security?"

"If I remember correctly, he couldn't find his cell phone either," Lizzy said.

"And, obviously your wit and diplomacy blew him away," Charlotte said.

"You did say that you really, really liked one song, though," Jane said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Which one?" asked Charlotte.

"This one," replied Lizzy.

"No, which singer?"

"Oh," Lizzy said and thought for a second. "Um…Dar, I think."

"Great," Charlotte grinned, "the moody one."

"This song's my favorite," Jane said, skipping forward a few tracks so that a smoother baritone filled the room and an acoustic harmony bounced along in the background:

_I have filled them_

_Emptied them_

_And proceeded to fill_

_My next_ pause

_Fold of the future…._

_Do I contradict myself? _Beat-long pause

_Very well then, I contradict myself._

And the husky voice from 'Fire and Ice' chanting breathlessly: _"I am large, I contain multitudes."_

Lizzy laughed. "Song of Myself?"

"You just like it, because this is one of the few that Bing sings," Charlotte teased Jane.

"That's not true," Jane protested. "He sings a lot of songs: this one, 'Kidnapped' from Nikki Giovanni's 'kidnap poem,' and he sings a lot of 'Play On.'"

"You do have a crush on Bing," Lizzy realized. "Why didn't you tell me!"

"Well, he was just so nice to us, when he found you in Dar's room," Jane said slowly.

"He was nice to _you_, you mean," said Charlotte, "because you were gorgeous, even trashed."

"No, he was nice in general," Lizzy admitted before Jane could protest. "It was really nice of him to both call a cab for us _and_ pay for it."

"He _paid_ for it?" Charlotte marveled.

"Just pulled two crisp one hundred dollar bills out of his money clip, handed it to the cab driver, and said, 'Please see them home safely, sir,'" Lizzy grinned. "Very gallant."

"Well, it's not like it'll ever come to anything," Jane said. "He's very talented and very handsome, and I'm just a lowly graduate student trying…"

"Bullshit, you're a doctor-to-be," Lizzy retorted, walking back to the table with a steaming mug of fresh tea, "a couple years from graduating at the top of your class."

"Lizzy, I'm only in the top twenty," Jane chided. "Don't exaggerate."

"Well, you're obviously the most beautiful student at this university," Charlotte mused. "You have a chance as much as any of us do."

"That's very kind, Charlotte; thank you," Jane said, "but both of you are—"

"Don't be so demure, Jane," Lizzy said, hugging her. "You know you're very, very cute."

"Very easy for the twin to say," said Charlotte, laughing.

"The _fraternal_ twin," Lizzy corrected Charlotte.

Charlotte gasped. "Maybe he'll come to the party tonight!"

"What party?"

"The Harvest Ball, Lizzy," Jane said sternly. "I'm on the committee, remember?"

"This is the formal one where the whole town's invited, right?" Charlotte asked.

"Wait—it's tonight?" Lizzy said. "Ugh, why am I so behind with everything?"

"You've been in the darkroom all week," Jane reminded her. "Working on your portfolio."

Lizzy made a face and blew on her tea. "Oh, yeah."

"Are you coming?" Charlotte asked.

"I have to," Jane said, laughing. "I'm on the committee."

"I know; I was asking Lizzy," Charlotte said.

"I have to," Lizzy said, grinning. "Jane's on the committee."

"You don't have to go, just because of me," Jane told Lizzy.

"Well, I know you don't mind, but all your little med-student friends will be all, 'her own twin, so unsupportive,'" Lizzy said.

"They're really nice," Jane protested. "You just need to get to know them."

"They're really nice, because they sleep in class and they can borrow your notes later," Lizzy said.

"And you're going to be the first doctor in history with neat handwriting," Charlotte explained.

"I just need to go through my film, and see if I have any indoor exposures left," Lizzy mused.

"No, you're not bringing your camera," Charlotte said.

"What? Why not?"

"You're the only girl I know who realizes that she's going out and tries to figure out what film to take before she knows what she's going to wear," Charlotte said.

"Well, it doesn't matter what _I_ wear," Lizzy said. "I'm not going to be in any of the pictures; I'm the one taking them."

"You're never going to get a boyfriend, if you hide behind your camera and smell like developing solution all the time," Charlotte said.

"I'm not the one looking for a boyfriend," said Lizzy, smugly. "You are; stop projecting."

"I'd like pictures of the ball," chimed in Jane.

"See," said Lizzy.

"Fine, but I'm dressing you," said Charlotte.

"No," moaned Lizzy, reaching for her camera bag and unzipping the front pocket for film inventory. "Whenever you dress me, people always look at me."

"That's the _point_, Lizzy," Charlotte laughed.

"Not when you're a photographer," Lizzy snapped. "It's so much harder to be invisible when your skirt barely covers your ass."

"Tough luck, babe," grinned Charlotte.

2.

When people asked (and sometimes when they didn't), Lizzy liked to tell them that a photographer's place was on the edge—the edge of the crowd, the edge of a cliff, the edge of a really spectacular shot. She liked to be in the shadows with her lens focused on what was happening in the light, because she hated poised pictures and loved candid photos. So, when Charlotte dressed her in a long-sleeved but tight black mini-dress with red beaded necklace and earrings to match her shoes, Lizzy had a hard time keeping herself on the outskirts of the ballroom; for one thing, men kept coming up and asking her to dance. Lizzy declined every time and said that she was working, gesturing toward her camera.

After taking shots of the whir on the dance floor, Lizzy found Charlotte, entertaining her fellow ball-goers with the story of Lizzy in Dar's dressing room; it got funnier and more embarrassing as the night went on. People, especially girls—coiffed in their flashy best—would gather around and hang on every word, even if they'd heard the story before.

There was a photograph in it. Lizzy composed it in this way: Charlotte, in the center—mouth open, wine glass and eyebrows raised; flanked on either side by wide-eyed young women with curls pulled back at their temples; a cluster of young tuxedoed men with their backs to the camera, but leaning slightly forward. _Click._ Lizzy named it, "Flashback of Fame."

"And the best part is—" Charlotte said, and Lizzy grimaced and braced her self for her roommate's punch line. "There was a poster of Dar right over his shoulder, and Lizzy _still_ didn't know who he was."

Lizzy shrugged and waited for the laughter to die down before she said, "What can I say? It was dark; I was sick."

One of the poor freshmen seemed scandalized. "Did you really say all that?"

"Yeah," Lizzy replied, as apologetically as she could. "But at least all of it was true. Plus, it's not like I'll ever see him again."

"How can you say that, Lizzy?" Jane scolded, smoothing down her light blue satin dress with neatly gloved hands; she looked like Cinderella, if Disney had colored the princess's hair red. "I'm so embarrassed. I was so drunk."

"Yeah, you were pretty drunk," Lizzy agreed, snapping a quick picture of the shadows Jane's gloves made across the smooth fabric of her skirt.

"Lizzy!"

Lizzy snapped a picture of her sister's indignant, wide eyes—one of them divided by a slash of red hair that had worked its way loose. "You're still a very pretty drunk, though."

"_Lizzy!_"

"Well, you are," Lizzy insisted, slinging her camera back over her shoulder, "and you act a lot better than most drunks. Actually, you handle yourself better when drunk than some sober people I know; I'm sure he was still impressed."

"He was just so—" Jane started, tugging at the tops of her gloves.

"Nice," Lizzy finished, pulling her camera out again to photograph the way the two skirts clashed in their purple and red-gold glory, the way the ruffles of one made the other seem so straight. "You told me."

"I know; I've told you a lot." Jane pressed her lips together, looked at the floor, and smoothed her skirt again. "Do you think I'm silly?"

"Of course," Lizzy replied. "I'm your sister; I know how you slept with a ketchup packet under your pillow for a week just because Bobby Whitman dropped it off his tray."

"That was middle school," Jane said, "and I meant, about this."

"Well, he _really_ helped us out," Lizzy admitted. "That cab fare was really expensive. I just liked how he subtly gave you his number."

"He wanted to make sure we got home all right," Jane protested.

"Right, and when you called him, it just so happens that his cell phone automatically got your number, too."

"It did not," Jane scoffed.

Lizzy grinned. "I bet he saved it under 'really, really hot drunk redhead, with (fraternal) twin.'"

"Well, I would've hoped he would've at least remembered my name," Jane grumbled, and Lizzy laughed and hugged her.

Jane sighed and looked into her empty goblet, grimacing at the golden liquid in the bottom. "Do I want another glass of wine?" Jane asked.

"Hmm—what do you have to do tomorrow?"

"I should finish memorizing the bones in the wrist," Jane admitted.

"Half a glass, then."

"Genius," Jane grinned.

"I like to think so," Lizzy grinned back.

Lizzy sipped from her glass (rich, red merlot—exactly how she liked it) and watched Charlotte flirt with a mildly interested sophomore; she snapped an idle shot in case the sophomore ended up becoming the love of Charlotte's life (of course, Lizzy had negatives of a lot of Charlotte's potential loves). She skimmed the room and took another idle shot of a couple leaning against the wall, the older woman's green skirt giving new, abundant life to the silk-leaved tree that they were hiding behind; Lizzy was pretty sure the guy kissed the woman in the green dress was in her Anthropology of the Middle East seminar. She walked on and moved her lens to the wine bar—the reflections of the glass throwing green, white, and brown flecks of light against the walls. The outstretched hands reaching for the fullest bottle. The stains spreading across the white tablecloths, the dark purples of the red and the eager golds of the white meeting in a muddy brown.

Lizzy hoped idly that Jane didn't have to help clean up.

She was trying to figure out how to compose a photograph that incorporated both the group of nervous freshman boys and the gaggle of giggling but expectant freshman girls, when the door between them opened and in strode a much more photogenic bunch. Lizzy lifted her camera up to her eye and clicked quickly, hoping that she'd gotten in all four of them: the two young women wearing the most expensive labels in the room and the snooty expression to match; the tall, handsome young man who showed a family resemblance with them, whose blonde hair peeked out from a very bad, brunette wig; and the taller young man, with long limbs stretching down his suit and hair so dark it shone. Lizzy allowed her lens to trail longingly on his figure, on the long legs and narrow waist, on the unruly hair and the dark, darting glance; she guessed, by the way he steered the group to a less conspicuous spot in the corner of the ballroom, that he was the leader. Or else—she decided, after noting the wigged man's stumbling walk—he was just the only sober one in the bunch.

Lizzy walked off, shooting stills of dancing couples with flying skirts and inappropriately placed hands on the way; she looked for Jane again but she'd lost her. Charlotte was gone, too; maybe, she'd gotten lucky with the sophomore. Lizzy wondered if there was anyway to try to get a bird-eye shot of the dance floor.

"We are too old to be crashing a party," said a clipped but vaguely familiar voice behind her. "Especially this party."

"Shut up, Will," said another voice—this one slightly slurred. "It's a graduate student party; you know how you can tell?"

"I won't humor you, Charlie; you're drunk."

"They're drinking wine, not beer; higher educations cultivate higher tastes."

Lizzy snorted under her breath; she noticed a couple—a young woman in a pink silk dress and a man with a blonde ponytail--dancing in the center of the floor, spinning to a tempo all of their own and holding onto each other like they'd never let go.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

Lizzy pulled her camera up, trying to tease a photograph out of their happiness, but the other dancers swung in and out of the frame.

"It's a fact—a proven, scientific fact."

"I forgot how opinionated you are when you're drunk."

"Opinionated, Will? You're calling _me_ opinionated?"

"Charlie, where are your sisters?"

One of the loving dancers lifted up his partner, swinging her around so that her skirt trailed like a comet behind her. Click. Lizzy really hoped that this one would come out.

"What sisters? Did we bring my sisters?"

"Yes, both Caroline and Louisa."

"Shit, Louisa's here? Can you keep an eye on her, Will? I don't think her marriage can handle another affair."

"Even if it's only a one-night fling?"

Lizzy bristled at Will's biting tone.

She wasn't the only one. "Will, that's not funny; I'm serious," said Charlie. "I'm sure she really loves him, and he really loves her."

"Yes, but the problem is that they can't stop loving other people."

"Will, just because you're pissed that you can't go home doesn't mean you can be an asshole."

There was a pause; Lizzy took another shot of the couple in love. Both partners' feet were on the floor, but the young woman's arms were as tight around his neck as if she were still holding on. A kiss was an inch away.

"You're not concerned at all about Caroline?" That was Will.

"Caroline isn't married; besides," here, the one called Charlie's tone took on something like amusement, "I think she's saving herself for you."

"She is not saving herself at all; she's racking up quite a bit of practice."

"Ugh, Will—I didn't need to hear that."

"Well, I didn't need to hear that Caroline's 'saving herself for me,' either."

"Touché—why are we talking about Caroline?"

Lizzy heard Will's smile. "I asked you where they were."

"Shit—where are they? Should we send out a search party?"

"Relax, Charlie; they're checking out the wine selection." Lizzy automatically turned her attention to the dining room table, still loaded with empty and half-empty bottles of wine. "I don't know how you could miss them; they're the only ones in the bunch who managed Gucci and Chanel." They were also the only women dressed in black, although stylishly—even elegantly. The shorter one was a little round; she had little bit of a tummy stretching the black material of her dress, but she was showing enough cleavage that most males wouldn't notice anything else. The tall one looked like most model-wannabes that Lizzy had met: a body that was all long legs and no chest, a face that was all big eyes and little, pouting lips.

"Fuck, she had to be beautiful tonight, didn't she?" breathed Charlie.

"Well, Caroline's quite pretty, I'll give you that," Will said. Lizzy stiffened; his voice was right over her shoulder. "But Louisa's let herself go since her marriage; I asked her when the baby's due and got smacked quite hard."

"Not them, Will; _her_," Charlie said. "Look. Between them."

Lizzy looked and noticed with a start that Jane was helping Caroline and Louisa pick and pour from the bottles of wine, a smiling blue beacon among the snooty darkness. Lizzy snapped a shot and wondered if she was too far away for it to come out.

"Yes, she's attractive," Will admitted grudgingly.

"You don't remember her?"

"Should I? Have we met her?"

"She's the sister of that girl who turned your dressing room into a puking zone," Charlie said. Lizzy's mouth dropped open, but she closed it quickly. She couldn't believe that she'd failed to recognize the B.F.D. singers _again_; it was a good thing Charlotte wasn't around to tease her. "I still have her number in my phone."

"You still have her _number_?" Will sounded aghast, but Lizzy grinned and stored up an "I told you so" for the next time she saw Jane.

"I couldn't remember her name, though, and I wasn't sure she'd care to remember me."

"You kept her number, Charlie? Please don't tell me that you rented that house, because it sits across the street from her school."

"Of course not," Charlie said, and Lizzy actually heard Will's (ie. Dar's) sigh of relief. "I figured she must have graduated by now.—I'm going to go talk to her; how do I look?"

"The wig isn't helping you," Will said.

"It's my _disguise_," Charlie grumbled.

"It's your _demise_," replied Will.

"Very funny, Will, but we don't write our own lyrics," Charlie said. "Why don't you find a nice girl to dance with?"

"Sadly, both your sisters seem to be occupied at the moment," Will replied. Lizzy glanced around, grinned, and lifted her camera to capture Caroline draped over a graduate student and the married Louisa groin-to-groin with an undergrad senior.

"There are other women here besides my sisters, Will," said Charlie.

"And not one I know and not one I'd ever dance with," snapped Will.

"What about that one's twin?" Charlie said, indicating Jane. "I'm sure she's here somewhere, and she was pretty attractive herself."

Lizzy decided then she was all right with Charlie Bingley making a move on her sister.

"Brilliant, Charlie," replied Will sarcastically. "I'll just be sure to keep her in sight of a toilet while we go at it."

Lizzy snorted a little more audibly this time and felt both men's attention turn to her; she turned around and walked forward, side-stepping three couples and excusing herself before she trusted herself to look up at their faces. When she saw Dar's wide-eyed stare and Bing's wig askew, a grin sprouted on her mouth, and she ducked her head to hide it.

"I think she heard me," Will said, almost amused.

"Will, I think that's _her_," said Charlie. "_That's_ the sister."

"Oh, bloody—"

Lizzy noticed Charlotte across the room and started laughing, startling three couples in her way; although slightly disgruntled (apparently that sophomore had not been the love of her life after all), Charlotte smiled. "What? You've done something evil to my dress, haven't you? To get your revenge for forcing you to borrow something with so much cleavage and so little skirt."

Remembering this, Lizzy tried to pull the black fabric up to cover more of her chest. "That's a good idea, but even better."

Charlotte smiled, when she saw where Lizzy was trying to point. "I already know that those are Dar and Bing from B.F.D., Lizzy; most people recognized them when they walked in the door."

"Well, good for them," said Lizzy, "but what's Charlie Bingley doing right now?"

"Lizzy," groaned Charlotte, "you're the last person I would ever suspect that would want to play a game of Let's-Watch-What-the-Famous-People-Do-Now."

"Just answer me, Charlotte." Lizzy snapped an idle shot of two women toasting each other with a clink of their wine glasses.

"He's walking, Lizzy; I don't see what's so exciting about walking."

"Now what's he doing?"

"Walking, Lizzy." Charlotte yawned.

"And now?"

"He's still—Oh, my God; he's talking to Jane!"

"Hurrah!" cried Lizzy, whooping and watching her twin accidentally knock over the row of empty wine glasses she'd been placing in the recycle bin. "Uh-oh—Jane looks a little nervous."

Charlie Bingley set about trying to help her pick them up. "He doesn't seem to mind much," Charlotte said.

"He's a little nervous, too," said Lizzy, as Bing's dark-haired wig slid off his head and knocked over three bottles that he'd just righted. "They're so cute."

"They're going to have adorable children when they get married," said Charlotte.

"Whoa," said Lizzy, snapping a shot of Jane and Bing's hands overlapping around the neck of a wine bottle. "I was going to just leave it at 'Jane's going to hook up with a ridiculously attractive young man tonight,' but okay."

"Trust me on this," Charlotte said. "I can just tell. She's so sweet, and he's so…"

"Nice," finished Lizzy, laughing. "Oh, look; they're going to dance."

"Doesn't look like Jane wants to," Charlotte commented, as Jane tugged her hand out of Bing's.

"No, look—she's just gotten something on her gloves; she's taking them off," Lizzy said, as Jane pulled off both long gloves. "Serves her right for trying to wear white."

"Either that," Charlotte said, as Jane beamed and reached for Charlie Bingley's hand, "or she just wanted a little more skin-on-skin contact. Where are you going?"

"Well, if he's really my future brother-in-law, I'm going to want a picture, right?" Lizzy said, grinning.

"Or you could just find your own partner," Charlotte called after her, but Lizzy was already gone. ("Or I could," said Charlotte to herself and set off to do just that.)

Lizzy pushed her way through the crowd, camera in hand, and schemed about the best way to get a good shot of them. There was a tiny landing above them, barely a catwalk, next to the ballroom's band stage, but it was enough and Lizzy knew she'd regret it if she didn't manage to get this picture. It had been a long time since she'd seen her twin this happy; she just wanted to get a good shot of that face—of her sister's wide, white smile and her sparkling blue eyes to keep for a day when Jane needed cheering up. Jane's head was on Charlie Bingley's shoulder; Lizzy heard gossip riot around her.

Climbing up onto the landing, Lizzy made enough noise that she was sure that the couple would turn and notice her, ruining the picture, but both of them were too absorbed with the music and each other to pay much attention to a photographer. Lizzy lifted her camera and finished the roll, while Jane and Bingley revolved around the dance floor. Bingley made Jane laugh, and Lizzy's camera caught the glee in her face for putting a grin on hers. Jane pressed her face into Bing's shoulder, and Lizzy snapped a shot of him bending to smell her hair. The song changed, and Lizzy caught the surprised delight in Jane's smile when Bing spun her and started trying to swing-dance with her (Jane was hopeless at swing; the twins had both taken lessons together when they were in middle school. The dance instructor had made Jane cry, by telling her that she had two left feet, and they'd been expelled from the class when Lizzy had told the instructor that she had only one connected eyebrow and a moustache to boot).

Lizzy stopped and bent to change the film, when someone pulled the camera roughly out of her hands. "No photographs," the one called Dar barked and began pushing the buttons on the side of the camera.

"What the fuck?" snarled Lizzy, snatching at it; Dar batted her hands away with one arm. "Hey, that's _mine_; give it back."

"No photographs," Dar repeated, still trying to open the camera and expose the film.

"No!" cried Lizzy, as the camera snapped open. Lizzy shoved him hard into the wall before snatching the camera out of his hands.

"Are you completely mad?" Dar asked Lizzy, scowling and rubbing his shoulder (apparently Lizzy had pushed him harder than she thought).

"Lizzy!" Jane shouted, letting Bingley go and crossing the room.

"He just ruined an entire roll of film!" Lizzy snapped.

"No, he didn't," Jane said, picking the film out of the camera. "Look, it's already re-rolled."

"Oh," said Lizzy, her mood brightening considerably.

"Give that to me," said Dar, reaching for it.

"Like hell, I will," Lizzy growled, taking the from her sister and cradling it with her camera.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jane tried to explain. "My sister's very—"

Bingley appeared above Jane's shoulder. "Will, what's going on?"

Will grumbled, "I didn't think I'd have to deal with the paparazzi here of all places. In little, bitty Hicksville of America—"

"Paparazzi?" Lizzy snapped.

"Lizzy—" Jane started, pressing a hand to her twin's shoulder.

"Yes, and if it weren't for _you_ and your stupid money-grubbing colleagues—" Dar growled.

"Will—" Bingley started.

"Me?" Lizzy said. "What do I have to do with anything? What 'money-grubbing'? You better just be glad that you didn't actually ruin my roll of film or I'd—"

"Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet!" shouted Jane.

Bingley followed her example and shouted, "Fitzwilliam Henry Darcington!"

"Dar_ling_ton," Dar corrected icily.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jane began again, addressing Dar. "My sister's a photographer, and she's very protective of her camera."

"Oh, she's a _photographer_," Bingley said, with obvious relief.

"Yeah, I just wanted to take a picture of my _sister_," Lizzy said. "I don't sell my pictures."

"She didn't mean to cause such a fuss," Jane said. "In fact, I'm sure there's something she wishes to say to you, Mr. Darlington." Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Right, Lizzy?"

"Oh, come on, Jane," Lizzy grumbled. "That's the oldest guilt-trip trick in the book; I'm a decade too old for that one." Jane glanced once at Bingley, and Lizzy sighed irritably. "Fine, I apologize Mr. Darlington for shoving you and causing a scene."

"And Will's got something he'd like to say, too," Bingley said, clapping Dar on the back.

Dar glowered down at him. "I have _nothing_ to say," he said, before storming off.

"Asshole," Lizzy muttered, before slinging her camera over her shoulder and storming off on her own.

3.

Though the rumors spread across campus so fast that in every class on Monday, Lizzy heard four different variants of, "Hey, Lizzy; heard you got in a fistfight on Saturday with Dar from B.F.D," the Bennet-Bingley relations weren't damaged by Lizzy and Will's falling-out. The campus gossips were also buzzing with the news that Jane Bennet and Bing from B.F.D. were going out, although Jane protested that they were only friends. Friends or not, Lizzy was only a little surprised to notice that Jane spent at least three hours a day every day for the next two weeks on the phone with a certain rock star, but Charlotte grinned whenever the phone rang and hummed the wedding march. Jane was beginning to glow; she was even starting to whistle as she did the dishes and to sing while folding laundry. She even started carrying the phone around in the pocket of her sweatshirt, which Lizzy caught several photos of; if any of them turned out, she'd call it "Symptoms of Love."

"Have you two even gone out on any dates?" Charlotte asked after Jane spent no less than four minutes saying goodbye to Bing before finally hanging up.

Jane blushed, and Lizzy stifled a laugh. "We've met for coffee a couple times, but he feels so uncomfortable near the campus with everyone staring at him all the time."

"Stupid of him to rent a house right across the street from the university, then," Charlotte said, flipping the page of her art textbook. "He could take you to the city for a nice dinner or something; no one's keeping him in suburbia."

"His sisters are in town," Jane protested. "He doesn't want to leave them, and I can certainly to relate to that."

Lizzy looked up to grin at Jane and then returned her attention to her film negatives.

"Has he kissed you yet?" Charlotte asked.

"We're just friends, Charlotte," Jane protested. (Which means no, Lizzy thought.)

"Friends, my ass," muttered Charlotte. "I know _I _spend several hours on the phone with all of _my_ friends; I'm sure young Bing talks to young Dar and Fitz on the phone at least four hours a day."

"That doesn't make any sense," Jane said. "Will's living with them; why would they talk on the phone?"

"Because that asshole might not feel like bothering to get up."

"Lizzy," Jane scolded, "you can't just hate Will forever."

"No, of course not," said Lizzy, lifting another set of negatives up to the light, "but give me till at least the end of the semester."

Jane would have protested again, but the phone rang and Jane pulled the cordless out of her pocket and left the room to answer it in private.

"He only gave her about three minutes to rest her voice," said Lizzy, smiling.

"You wouldn't hate Dar so much if you hadn't thought he was hot," Charlotte said.

"What?" yelped Lizzy, dropping her negatives. "He tried to ruin a roll of _film_."

"I bet you end up fucking him someday," teased Charlotte.

"Charlotte! William 'Dar' Darlington? Never," promised Lizzy. "He's an asshole; you should've heard how he talked to Bingley. And what he said about Bingley's sisters."

"Have you _met _his sisters?" Charlotte asked. "I talked to them at the Harvest Ball, and I'm sure whatever he said, he wasn't exaggerating."

Lizzy would've asked more about the Bingley sisters, but Jane walked back into the room, seeming puzzled. Charlotte mock-gasped. "That was less than a minute!" Charlotte said. "Do you two 'friends' have nothing left to say to each other?"

"That was Caroline Bingley," Jane said slowly.

"Uh-oh," said Lizzy, putting down her negatives.

"What does she want?" said Charlotte.

"She just wants me to come over," said Jane. "To get to know me a little better."

"Go to Netherfield? Cool!" Charlotte said. "Has anyone else we know ever gone to Netherfield?"

"Isn't that a little weird, though?" Jane asked. "Why wouldn't Charlie invite me over? He kept telling me how he wanted to introduce me to his sisters, but that he wanted to pick a day when they were in a good mood—"

"Maybe they were PMSing or something," Charlotte offered.

"For two weeks?" asked Lizzy.

"Hey, it's happened," said Charlotte, defensively. "You should still go, Jane; no telling when a Vickroot student will get a chance like this ever again."

"Of course, I'm going," said Jane, surprised. "I already said I would; it'd be rude not to. Lizzy, can I borrow your car?"

Before Lizzy could agree, Charlotte piped up, "Why don't you just walk? It's not that far."

"Hmm, I'd like that," Jane said, peering outside at the autumn-tinted trees. "It's a such a pretty day."

"It's cold, though," Lizzy said. "Bundle up."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Thanks, _little_ sister."

"I'm taller than you."

"I'm older than you."

"Only by twelve minutes and thirteen seconds," Lizzy protested.

"I've got a scarf, are you happy?" Jane said.

"A hat, too," Lizzy insisted.

"It'll mess up my hair."

Lizzy snorted. "It'll recover."

"Wear your earmuffs, instead," suggested Charlotte.

"Perfect!" said Jane and ran into her room to find them.

"You're certainly being helpful," Lizzy told Charlotte, suspiciously.

"I'm a helpful person," Charlotte said, turning back to her magazine; Lizzy waited. "Of course, if she's going to be there until after dark—which I daresay she will--someone's going to have to drive her back. And I bet, that someone's going to be young Bing, and I'm really curious to see what kind of car Mr. Bingley drives."

"Expecting a Porshe, huh?" grinned Lizzy.

"No, Jaguar," Charlotte replied.

An hour later, Lizzy didn't care much about what kind of car Bingley drove; she was more concerned with the rain that had started falling. She called Jane's cell phone a couple times, before deciding that Jane must have turned it off. "Jane's a big girl," Charlotte reminded Lizzy gently. "Plus, a little rain never hurt anyone."

"This is _freezing_ rain, Charlotte," Lizzy pointed out. "Look at the trees." The trees outside were glistening with the tell-tale shine of ice. "I checked and it's supposed to start snowing soon."

"She'll be fine," Charlotte insisted, but Lizzy heard the unsure note in her roommate's voice.

The phone rang, and Lizzy ran to answer it. "Jane?" she cried.

"Um, no, it's Charlie. Who is this? Is this Lizzy?"

"Yeah, it's me; is Jane there?"

"She's here," said Charlie uncertainly, "but…"

"But what? Is she okay?"

"She's kind of sick; she's got a fever and she's pretty out of it. I'm just calling to make sure that she's not allergic to any medication—"

"Hold on," Lizzy told him. "I'll be right over."


	3. Calling on Netherfield

1.

The one called Dar didn't know what to think of Miss Elizabeth Zipporah Bennett.

At that Harvest Dance, he'd managed to convince himself that while she was reasonably attractive, she was probably insane. He'd made an honest mistake (you can't ever be too careful in the entertainment industry), and she'd completely over-reacted. However, he did find it interesting that she over-reacted in regards to her photography rather than the unkind comment he'd made regarding her food poisoning. Most women he'd met would be angrier about an insult directed toward them than an attack on their possessions; of course, after he thought about it some, he decided he might have reacted in nearly the same way if someone had deliberately tried to destroy one of his recordings. He liked to think that he wouldn't have resorted to physical violence though; it was quite unbecoming in a grown woman, even one with such bright eyes.

He knew what the others thought of her; they were very vocal about their opinions to him. When she arrived at the front door of Netherfield the night of the ice storm, her entire top layer gilded with ice, her toque frozen on her head, she merely stamped her feet and shook the icicles off her sleeves before sniffing and asking, "Where's Jane? Is she okay?"

"Upstairs," Charlie said. "She's fine; she's asleep. How did you get here?"

"Skied," Lizzy said, tugging with the zipper of her jacket with pale, pink-knuckled hands. "Cross-country. There are trails running all through your property, Charlie; now that it's snowing again, you'll probably have a lot of uninvited visitors."

"That's not snow," said Will, looking out the window and back to Lizzy; the cold had planted two flushed roses on her cheeks. "It's ice."

"Well," said Lizzy, sniffing again and wiping her nose on the back of her hand, "I managed, and others will, too.—Charlie, where's Jane? Can you take me to her?"

After Charlie lead Lizzy upstairs to the room he'd given to Jane, Caroline Bingley muttered to Will, "Is she crazy? Skiing a mile and a half in pouring _sleet_ to be with a sister who only has a cold? Did you see how her nose was running?"

"Her eyes were tearing, too," Louisa added, lighting a cigarette now that Charlie wasn't around to tell her not to.

"She can't be completely crazy," Will said, watching the top of the stairs. "Otherwise, she wouldn't have made it here."

Caroline Bingley tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and let out a laugh like a bark. "You're too cruel sometimes, Will."

It hadn't occurred to Will that he'd been cruel, and he was about to say so when Charlie tramped down the stairs again (Louisa slipped out the front door to smoke her cigarette in peace). "Can you believe it? How many miles do you think it is to the university?"

"Nearly a mile and a half," Will said. "Your driveway's more than a mile of that."

"It's freezing out there!" Charlie cried, crossing his arms and peering out the window.

"How stupid can you get?" Caroline asked.

"Well, I think it's sweet of her," Charlie replied. "It shows how much she loves her sister."

"Well, I love you very much," Caroline scoffed, "but I know better than to risk serious injury because you _might_ be sick."

Will personally felt that statement reflected more on Caroline than on Elizabeth Bennet. It was stupid—he had to admit that--but it was exactly what he might have done for his own sister.

The next morning, Will woke to see his breath hanging in the air, and he flipped the lightswitch twice before he realized the power was out. He pulled on his jeans and two sweatshirts, and when he left his room, he found Charlie shivering in the hallway.

"Power's out," Charlie said, pulling his shoulders up to his ears and rubbing his hands together.

"No shit," Will replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Both Bing and Dar turned when someone coughed in the hallway; Will thought Elizabeth Bennet was trying to get their attention, until he saw her eyes screwed shut and a pained line between her eyebrows. She'd really gotten sick.

"Hey," she said, smiling, and her voice rattled in her throat. "Jane's still asleep. Called the power company, yet?"

Charlie called the power company, searched through the kitchen junk drawer until he found the keys to the shed, and followed Elizabeth outside to find mallets and chop wood for the fireplace. She'd given Will a tight-lipped glare when she and Charlie re-entered the mansion with logs in their arms, until she noticed the small generator Will had pulled out of the garage and wheeled into the sitting room. He'd only just managed to get it to power a few lamps.

"Oh," she said softly, stopping in front of the fireplace, and Will felt she might have said something more—perhaps apologized for thinking him too lazy to chop his own wood—if Caroline and Louisa Bingley hadn't entered the room, groaning about the weather and huddling in the down comforters that they'd pulled from their beds.

She wasn't beautiful, so it wasn't that. When Elizabeth Bennet guided her twin sister into the room and showered Jane with blankets, Will couldn't help noticing that the redhead was the prettier of the two, even though he couldn't quite figure out what the difference was. Elizabeth's mouth was a little too big, perhaps, or her hair a little untidy. Maybe, it was their figures: Jane had a slim, tall frame that would look attractive in nearly anything; Elizabeth wasn't overweight exactly, but she had the curvy figure that would easily run to fat. Even Caroline—with her sharp nose and sculpted mouth—was more aesthetically pleasing than Elizabeth Bennet. But there was something about her—Elizabeth—that drew the eye; he could understand how Elizabeth would seem beautiful to those who loved her.

2.

Netherfield was _gorgeous_; Lizzy couldn't get over how beautiful it was. She wished she'd thought to bring her camera last night (of course, she didn't though—she was too busy worrying about Jane). Lizzy wanted a picture of the colors that the winter sunlight was teasing out of the window frame, those dark-stained mahogany sparkles and the bright curves of the grain; she wanted one of the ceiling too, painted blue and carved with angels. The room's corners needed dusting, and the hardwood floor needed waxing, but it was the most photogenic room she'd seen in months. She also wouldn't mind having a picture of her twin, flushed with fever and swaddled in blankets like a baby with tissues scattered around her like confetti. She might even want to catch a picture of Charlie, pretending to tend the fire but watching Jane.

She didn't need a picture of the Bingley sisters. They were both sitting on the couch in nearly identical velvet jogging suits; Louisa flipping through magazines and Caroline listening to her iPod As much as she hated to admit it, the one called Dar had been right about those two, but that hadn't improved him much in her opinion. In fact—

Lizzy coughed into her hands and tried to hunch lower in the blankets and hide herself in her hoodie. "He's doing it again, Jane," she complained. "Make him stop."

Jane sighed and reached for another tissue to wipe her nose. "Lizzy, Will Darlington is not staring at you."

"He _is_," Lizzy replied and coughed again.

"You're so cranky when you're sick," Jane mumbled into her tissue.

"Excuse _me_," Lizzy muttered. "Since you don't like it, I'll just strap my skis back on and head back to the apartment then."

"No, Lizzy," said Jane quickly, catching her twin's hand; Lizzy saw a photograph—of the concerned frown across her sister's face in the foreground and of the one called Dar's stare in the background. "I'm really glad you're here; I'm really glad I'm not alone right now."

"Alone with two rock stars and the nice one's sisters, you mean," Lizzy asked.

Jane leaned forward to whisper in Lizzy's ear. "No, basically just the nice one."

Lizzy snorted.

When her iPod's battery died, Caroline Bingley looked up from her blankets on the couch, pushed back her hair, and realized no one's attention was on her: her sister was reading _Vogue_, her brother was watching the redhead, and Will was watching the redhead's crazy sister.

"I'm hungry," Caroline announced.

Charlie scooped up a handful of aluminum-wrapped snacks. "Here's some Pop-tarts."

"I want something _warm_," Caroline said.

"I'm sorry; we'll have to wait until the power comes back," Charlie replied.

Caroline stretched, sensuously like a cat; her black velvet jogging suit shone gold in the sunlight. "Can't you fix something with that generator, Will?" She leaned forward to stretch her back, giving the one called Dar an eyeful if he chose to look.

He didn't. "It can't support a Crock-pot," Will said.

"Then, when's the power supposed to come back on?" Caroline asked her brother.

"This evening, about six," Charlie said.

"Can't we leave and go someplace else?"

"Sure, if you want to shovel the driveway," Lizzy told Caroline.

"_Lizzy_," Jane hissed.

"They can't clear the driveway until sometime tomorrow," Charlie apologized. "We're stuck here until then."

"Can't you pay—" Caroline started.

"Public roads first; private later," Lizzy said, harshly enough that everyone looked at her, and a moment passed in awkward silence.

"I'm hungry," Caroline repeated, and when Lizzy opened her mouth to say something else, Jane rose. Her blankets fell in a graceful pile behind her, and her red hair blew around her face like a halo. Lizzy snapped a silent picture in her head ("Angel of Tact," she would've called it).

"Maybe there's something in the kitchen we can cook over the fire; do you have any popcorn?" Jane asked Charlie.

Charlie stood, smiling. "We'll go check; have you seen our kitchen here?" He opened the door for her and held it as she walked past; for an instant, their faces were framed by the curve of his arm. Click. Lizzy'd have called it…"An Easy Excuse to See Each Other." Maybe that was too long; maybe she really was sick—she was even losing her touch.

"No, not yet," Jane answered, and the door swung shut behind her. Lizzy then realized that she was alone with some of her least favorite people; she rewound the imaginary film in her head and relabeled Jane's pic "Angel of Abandonment." Luckily, she noticed that the fire was sputtering out (Lizzy smirked; apparently Charlie had been watching Jane much better than the fire) and stood to tend it, grabbing the stack of magazines that Louisa had discarded before ripping out pages and stuffing them under the grate. When she realized everyone was looking at her, she asked, "Oh, I'm sorry; is it okay if I use these?"

Louisa shrugged, tossed Lizzy the magazine she was holding, and reached for another. Caroline sniffed, and Will replied, "It's fine."

Lizzy placed some more logs carefully in the fire and opened the next magazine for ripping purposes. "Even this one?" Lizzy asked, looking up at Will. "It's got your picture in it."

"We don't care about that sort of thing," Will scoffed, turning away to look at the icicles hanging from the trees.

"So you don't mind that according to _People_, you're the second sexiest up-and-coming artist, after Charlie?" Lizzy asked, flipping through the magazine before looking up to catch Will scowling down at the page and trying to read it.

"No, he's not," Charlie said, re-entering the room with Jane on his heels; Jane was carrying a pot that rattled with popcorn kernels. "They didn't order us, and we're on the same page. Will, you got that memo, remember?."

"But he didn't read it, of course," Lizzy said, tearing the offending page out and feeding it to the fire. "He doesn't care about that sort of thing."

Will scowled, nostrils flaring, and Caroline decided to rescue him. "Only a _certain _kind of people read those magazines anyway."

Louisa raised an eyebrow at her sister and said nothing, but Lizzy frowned and said, "So you aren't the CB who scored a 92 on this 'How Fashion Conscious Are You?' quiz, huh?"

Caroline's jaw dropped, but Lizzy only smiled, tore out the page, and stuffed it among the orange coals. "Don't worry," she chirped. "Evidence burnt."

Will rubbed his mouth to hide his smile.

3.

If you remove electricity—and with electricity, TV, internet, and even radio—most young people can't entertain themselves.

The Bennet twins, the Bingley sisters, and the rock stars tried anyway. Luckily, managing to get the popcorn popped over the fire took three tries and a whole fifty minutes (and half a jar of Newman's Best Kernels). Putting out the fire that an over-enthusiastic Jane set on the carpet took just five minutes, but Jane's apologies and Charlie's reassurances managed to take up another twenty minutes. They used three hours and two laptops to watch movies (_The Sweetest Thing_, Caroline's choice and half of _Bend It Like Beckham_, Jane and Lizzy's choice) until the last of the laptop batteries gave out. Jane unearthed some board games in one of the front closets, but when she noticed the way Lizzy was glaring at Caroline, she whispered a request into Charlie's ear. Charlie left the room and returned with a digital camera for Lizzy, saying that he thought that maybe she might like to take some pictures of the house and grounds; Lizzy was so excited that she whooped and hugged Charlie around the neck, which earned her a snide comment from Caroline Bingley and a covert glance from Will as she left the room.

She returned a couple hours and three rounds of Scrabble later, coughing again but grinning, her cheeks bright with cold, and the camera dangling from her hand. "Charlie," she said, slinging off her backpack and pulling off her coat, "I _love_ your house."

Jane and Charlie exchanged laughing glances in front of the fireplace; Lizzy caught it on film, just barely, the last memory available in her camera. "Thanks," Charlie said, smiling. "I'm happy here myself."

"Before we leave, you _have_ to show Jane the ballroom; that chandelier—" she said. "Oh, speaking of leaving, the road's cleared at the end of the driveway, and I might have talked the crews into tackling your driveway first thing tomorrow morning."

"How did you get to the end of the driveway, Lizzy?" Jane asked, suspiciously.

Lizzy ducked her head and mumbled, "Skied."

"You shouldn't push yourself so much," Jane scolded. "You're already sick."

Lizzy shrugged. "It was on the way to the apartment."

"You went all the way back to your apartment?" Caroline Bingley asked, as if she couldn't believe that Lizzy hadn't stayed there.

"Yep," Lizzy announced proudly. "I gathered us a change of clothes and toothbrushes and stuff; I think I forgot a hairbrush, though."

Caroline made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

"You remembered your camera though, didn't you?" Jane teased, coming to give her sister a hug.

"Yeah, but Charlotte confiscated it," Lizzy sighed with so much regret that Jane laughed.

"You probably shouldn't ski again if the plough crews might come unannounced," Will said and immediately regretted it when he saw Elizabeth scowl; apparently she hated being told what to do.

"That's true," Jane agreed quietly. "I want you to promise me that you won't go skiing again until we get back home."

"Then how will I get back home?" Lizzy asked.

"We'll call Charlotte to pick us up," Jane said, sternly. "Promise me, Lizzy."

Lizzy stared at her sister levelly for a moment. "Fine, I promise," she mumbled. "So bossy."

"Older sister's privilege," Jane said.

"Okay—_minutes_, Jane," Lizzy said, rolling her eyes. "There are minutes between me and you."

Jane shrugged with a smile, and the lights flickered on above them. Lizzy caught the whir of the central heating click on around them, too.

"Finally!" Louisa cried.

"Just in time for a shower and an episode of the OC," Caroline agreed, and Lizzy had to work really hard to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Caroline looked around and added, "Any takers?"

Will and Charlie assumed that they weren't being addressed.

"I've never seen it," Jane said quietly.

"I think I'm going to read," Lizzy admitted, pulling a book out of her backpack.

"Read?" Caroline and Louisa repeated together. Caroline went on, "You'd give up the OC to _read_?"

"Homework," Lizzy explained, as politely as she could. "We won't have snow days forever."

Caroline and Louisa didn't know how to respond to this and stepped out of the room. Jane asked Lizzy if she brought any medical texts with her, and her twin replied by smiling and pulling _Atlas of Human Anatomy_ out of her bag without even looking up.

"What's your major?" Will asked.

"I'm a medical student," Jane replied, but he was looking pointedly at Lizzy.

Lizzy was pointedly not noticing until Jane nudged her. "Anthropology," Lizzy said.

"What are you going to do with that?" Will asked.

Charlie scowled, but the words were out of Will's mouth before he could stop them.

"Save the world," Lizzy replied, her gaze barely glancing up from her copy of _Persepolis _for a short second.

"That's not quite practical, is it?" Will said. He could feel Charlie staring at him, but that was easily ignored.

"Jane's the practical one," Lizzy said, turning a page, lips tight. "I'm just the rebellious one."

"_Lizzy_," Jane pleaded.

"However—" Will started.

"Will, you were an English major," Charlie laughed. "What are you picking on Lizzy for?"

Will shrugged. "I planned to go to graduate school."

"And do you still?" Lizzy asked, still refusing to look up from her book. "Now that your major turned out to be so helpful for your career?"

"Yes, I bloody well do," snapped Will.

_Now_ she closed her book; _now_ she looked up at him. Will barely had time to notice that her eyes were blue, not green, before Lizzy's next question threw him off guard: "Are you British?"

"What?" Will asked. Charlie started forward, but Will threw him a warning glance.

"Are you British?" Lizzy asked.

"Why you always ask me that?" Will asked.

"Uh, Will? This is the first time she's asked you," Charlie said.

"No, he's right," Lizzy told Charlie. "I asked him a lot when I was throwing up in his dressing room. I just keep hearing faint traces of the UK in your o's; plus, I don't know too many Americans who use 'bloody' in everyday conversation, unless they're med students like Jane here."

"You specialize in linguistic anthropology, don't you?" said Will.

"You wish," replied Lizzy with a grin.

"You took a course in it last semester though," Jane reminded Lizzy.

"Where are you from, Mr. Darlington?" Lizzy asked in her best British accent.

"My mother's family is from Boston," Will said, looking Lizzy in the eye as steadily as he could, "but I move all over."

"You're doing a great job of not lying," Lizzy commented, "_and_ not answering the question."

"_Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet_," hissed Jane, and Lizzy rolled her eyes but left Will "Dar" Darlington alone.

Charlie tried to rescue them from an awkward silence. "Jane, why did you want to become a doctor?"

Lizzy looked up to watch Jane for her reaction. "I'd like to find a cure for asthma," Jane replied.

Will wasn't sure how practical Jane was either, but he knew the shit that Charlie would give him later if he dared to bring this up. He needed something to distract him from his bad mood, so he crossed the room to turn on his laptop.

"Oh," said Charlie in a more polite tone than normal. "Why is that?"

"Me," said Lizzy, turning to Charlie with a smile. "I have asthma. Or I did; I've mostly outgrown it by now. But back in middle school, I had a really bad attack on the soccer field, and Jane's wanted to cure asthma ever since."

"I've never felt so helpless," Jane said quietly. "I thought you were going to die."

Out of the corner of his eye, Will watched Lizzy reach for her sister's hand and hold it for a moment; then, he turned and saw Charlie practically melting with infatuation. He had a sudden vision of their drummer Fitz turning to him and announcing, "Now experiencing Crush #18. Strap in, folks; we're expecting turbulence ahead," and Will snickered. He froze though, turning pale at his mistake, when the Bennet twins and Charlie turned to him; it looked like the only thing keeping Elizabeth Bennet from crossing the room to hit him was Jane's hand holding hers.

Charlie noticed too. "Uh, Lizzy—wanna download those pictures onto my computer?"

Lizzy grinned to show Charlie that she knew she was being placated. "Sure, Charlie."

4.

Disappointment, in all its forms, is most keenly felt directly after its actualization; the same was true of Caroline and Louisa Bingley after they discovered that the storm had knocked out the cable in the Netherfield mansion and they would not in fact be watching the OC that night. The Bingley sisters turned to distraction, which has proved an effective antidote to disappointment, to pass the time—Louisa, in the form of a novel with a scantily clothed couple on the cover, and Caroline, by distracting Will from his task on the computer.

Their brother Charlie was distracted himself by the tutelage of Jane Bennet, who was trying to demonstrate how a fire should be properly attended. Jane was distracted by her twin's cough, which seemed to be getting worse, and forced her sister to promise to see a doctor the next day. Darcy seemed to be distracted by Elizabeth Bennet as well; he kept pausing at his keyboard to scowl at her over the screen. Caroline Bingley didn't take too kindly to Lizzy being better at her task than she was.

"Jane, sweetheart, what I can't seem to understand is how you can be well into medical school with your sister stuck in undergrad, yet," Caroline said. "You two are twins, aren't you?"

"Jane's just way smarter than me," Lizzy said from her place at Charlie's computer.

"That's not true, Lizzy," Jane said. "You skipped just as many grades as I did."

"Yeah, how many did we skip? Two?" Lizzy asked.

"Two and a half," Jane replied.

"That's right," Lizzy said, smiling up at Caroline's scowl over the top of the laptop.

"You skipped two grades?" Charlie asked, obviously impressed.

"Two and a half," Lizzy corrected him.

"That still doesn't explain why you two are so far apart in your educational careers," Will commented.

"No, did something happen? Did you change your major too many times?" Caroline asked.

"Nope, just took a couple years off," Lizzy said. "I didn't feel like entering college as a sixteen-year-old."

"Taking time off is nearly always regretted," Will said. "It's very difficult to return to the life of a student."

"Well, you're bossy, Mr. Darlington," Lizzy replied, grinning at Jane. "You must know everything; I bet you have a younger sister."

Will's mouth fell open to explain that he was merely trying to be sympathetic and that he was having difficulty mustering the inclination to go back to graduate school himself, but Jane spoke first. "Don't let her fool you, Will. She's talking to me; I said something like that to her when she told me about her decision. But I was just scared to be separated from her. Lizzy handled the transition fine."

"The trick is to never stop reading," Lizzy advised.

Caroline Bingley had nothing to say about this, so she returned her attention back to Will. "You type so fast, Will!"

"You must be mistaken; I type rather slowly."

"It seems like your fingers are just flying over the keyboard."

"If they were flying over the keyboard, I wouldn't be typing at all."

Caroline was silent for a moment, and so was Will.

"I don't get it."

Will explained, "If they were flying, they wouldn't be touching the keyboard."

Lizzy tried not to snicker; she didn't exactly succeed but covered it up pretty well with a coughing fit, one that made Jane and then Charlie turn to her in concern.

"You alright, Lizzy?" Jane asked.

"I'm fine," she promised. "And I'm almost done; you'll have your computer back in a few minutes."

"Take your time," Charlie told her.

"I just need send twenty more pictures to myself and delete all the files, and I'm done," she assured him.

"No, leave them," Charlie said. "I'd like to see them; Jane's been telling me about your gallery opening."

"It wasn't a real gallery, just something at school," Lizzy said modestly, but she was beaming.

"No, but it was visited by real gallery owners," Jane reminded her. "Give yourself some credit."

"Why would she need to, if you're doing it for her?" Will said, and both Bennet twins turned to look at him.

"Will, how's Pemberley this time of year?" Caroline asked.

"I imagine it's much like this," Will replied. "In the middle of its first snow of the year. Or rather close to it."

"What does Georgiana say?" Caroline said.

"I'm emailing her to ask," Will replied.

Jane whispered to Charlie, "Is Georgiana his girlfriend?"

Charlie shook his head, turning to grin at Lizzy. "His little sister."

Lizzy glanced up at Will and laughed. "Called it," she reminded him.

Will began to grin sheepishly, but Lizzy had already returned her attention to the computer screen.

"How _is_ dear Georgie?" Caroline asked.

"Very well."

"Tell her hi for me; I haven't see her in so long," Caroline lamented. "She must taller than me."

"Not quite."

"What colleges is she applying to?"

"None," said Will. "She's yet to take her A-levels."

"A-levels, Mr. Darlington?" repeated Lizzy suspiciously. "Are you _sure_ you're not British?"

Will and Charlie exchanged glances; Caroline looked smug (a little too I-know-something-you-don't-know to soothe Lizzy's curiosity). "I won't dignify that with an answer," Will said.

"It's funny," Lizzy commented, as she typed (she _was_ a fast typer). "You've got the accent down; it's a little too proper and grammatical correct for your age but it's good."

"Are you in the habit of badgering people about their nationalities?" Caroline said and added a tickling laugh.

"Only when they throw in _rather_ and _quite_ into their everyday speech," replied Lizzy, smirking.

"No!" cried Jane. "Not that one."

Lizzy, Will, and Caroline turned to the fireplace, where Jane had rescued a magazine from Charlie's hands and was hugging it to her chest.

"But you told me to rip out the pages and put them under the wood," said Charlie slowly, looking abashed.

"Yeah, just…" Jane sighed. "Not this one; use another magazine."

The room was silent, and Lizzy was trying not to laugh at the face that Charlie was making. "Jane?" she asked. "You okay? You're weirding us out?"

"Sorry," said Jane. It's just that I have so few pictures of Lizzy; she hates to be in front of a camera nowadays." Jane relinquished the magazine to display a picture of a slim, long-haired brunette grinning over a Tommy Hilfiger logo.

"That's Lizzy?" Charlie asked, mouth open.

"You were a _model_?" asked Caroline.

"Who was a model?" Louisa asked looking up from her book.

"Elizabeth Bennet was a model," Caroline told Louisa.

"Oh," said Louisa and returned to her novel.

"You're the last person I would've thought had a modeling history," said Charlie.

Lizzy laughed. "They only wanted me, because they hadn't met Jane."

"Lizzy!" cried Jane.

Lizzy laughed again.

Caroline peered over Will's shoulder to see what he was Google-ing. "We can't find any 'Elizabeth Bennet' supermodels on the internet," she told Lizzy, smugly.

"That's because I worked under the name Beth Bennett," Lizzy said. "I had to make a few things up; not many agencies were looking for sixteen-year-old high school graduates. Good thing Jane and I looked old for our age."

"Lizzy held three jobs in New York," Jane said, proudly. "She was also a daycare assistant and a part-time secretary."

"No, I quit the secretary job, remember?"

"Right—you hated your boss," Jane remembered.

"I worked in a salon instead; I was a receptionist," Jane said.

"You put yourself through college?" Will asked quietly.

"Yes," replied Lizzy defensively.

No one asked why, but the question hung in the air. Will tried to ignore Caroline's head above his shoulder, looking on, and clicked through the resume-portfolio of the model Beth Bennette. This was a very different girl than the one in the hoodie and ponytail, typing away at Charlie's laptop; this Elizabeth Bennet was at ease in some of the labels that would make the Bingley sisters' mouths water.

She still wasn't beautiful, but he could understand why she had once been a popular model. It was more noticeable in these pictures against a backdrop of the beautiful, blank stares of other models.

There was always something in her face.

She didn't wear a mask like the other models; her moods were visible—laughing in one, angry the next, then mocking. Or perhaps that was laughing again.

"Why'd you quit?" Caroline asked, as if she could never understand why anyone would give it up.

"The rest of me grew in, and the clothes stopped fitting," said Lizzy.

"The rest of her?" asked Charlie.

"I believe Miss Bennet means that her figure grew rather curvaceous for popular approval," Will said.

Lizzy lifted her eyebrows, smirking. "Bingo; point for Mr. Darcy."

"God, Lizzy," said Jane, rolling her eyes and handing Charlie another log to put on the now-roaring fire. "If you're going to call Will by his last name, you might as well get it right."

Charlie didn't move; instead he asked, slowly, "Who told you that Will's real last name is Darcy?"

5.

Throughout her life, Elizabeth Bennet had been told by two dozen people that she was too clever for her own good. Sometimes, as with her father, this was said with a touch of admiration or even pride; other times, as with her mother, it carried a hint of a threat. It was the threat that Will would've tried for, if he could've gotten his mouth to move.

"Oh, my God," said Caroline.

" said Lizzy, and she started reading off the screen. "'Pemberley Hall was built in 1733 by three generations of the Darcy family; Fitzwilliam Henry _Darcy_ is the fourteenth owner of the mansion, which has fifteen bedrooms and—"

Charlie got up and slapped the laptop shut; Lizzy jumped away from the desk, hands in the air, surprised to see him so angry. "I didn't let you borrow this for—"

"It's quite all right, Charlie," said Will, and Lizzy's head whipped around to hear a clipped English accent coming from his mouth. "It's better that she did it here, where we might catch her; she needs to understand."

"_Excuse_ me?" snapped Lizzy, pissed that he could be caught in such a huge lie and _still_ manage to be condescending.

"Understand what?" Jane asked.

"What happened?" asked Louisa, looking up from her book.

"The Bennets found out about Darcy," Caroline explained.

"Oh," said Louisa, and she returned to her novel.

"You're lying to a lot of people, Mr. _Darcy_," Lizzy reminded him. "I'm going to want a reason why."

"For the same reason that you once called yourself Beth Bennette," Will said calmly.

"I used a false identity so that I could lie about my age. People don't care how old rockstars are," Lizzy reminded him. "Look at Hillary Duff. And Mick Jagger."

Charlie made a sound like he was wounded, and Will scowled. "I can't believe you just compared B.F.D. to Hilary Duff," said Jane, and Charlie beamed at her.

"_Privacy_, Miss Bennet," said Will sternly. "I don't want anyone bothering me and mine."

Lizzy burst out laughing. "Are you serious? Did you just step out of a historical thriller or something?"

Will scowled again, and Jane said, "Lizzy, _please_."

"Don't you understand what this could do to their careers?" Caroline huffed with crossed arms.

"Depending on their PR guy," replied Lizzy, "the scandal might be great publicity for B.F.D.'s new album."

"We've gone to great lengths to hide—" Will started.

"I hope you're not trying to tell me that you've been successful," Lizzy said. "I can't be the only one to have figured this out."

"There have been certain reporters," Will said as calmly as he could, "and a considerable amount of money has been paid."

"And a few threats," Charlie added. To Will's questioning frown, he explained, "Fitz's."

"And neither of those will work with me," Lizzy told them. "So, I need someone to explain why he's going by Darlington instead of Darcy."

"My mother's maiden name was Darlington," Will said quietly.

"Well, good to know you didn't make it up," said Lizzy scowling.

"Georgiana," said Charlie quickly. Will scowled at him, but Charlie continued, "Will figures she's had enough to deal with already; she doesn't need to be known as a rock star's little sister on top of everything else."

"Oh," said Lizzy in a very different tone. "Okay, then; I won't say anything."

Both Dar and Bing's eyebrows flew up.

"You—" started Charlie, cautiously.

"If Lizzy says she won't," interrupted Jane quietly but firmly, "she won't."

Charlie glanced at Will and sighed. "Okay."

"And you obviously don't need to worry about Jane," Lizzy chirped; she turned back to Will, grinning. "So…what? You just woke up one day and decided Darcy wasn't the name for you?"

"When I came to the states to finish high school, I registered under the name Darlington, because it was my mum's family that was paying for my education," Will said. "It was one of their conditions."

"And obviously, your accent changed as soon as you crossed the big pond, huh?" said Lizzy.

"He wanted to fit in," Charlie said. "He was having a hard enough time changing schools during his senior year."

"I would've thought an English accent would've made you more popular," Lizzy mused, "or was it an all-boys school?"

Will lifted one eyebrow. "It was exclusively male."

Lizzy grinned. "So, how'd you find out, Charlie?"

"He was my roommate," Will explained.

"And Will talks in his sleep," added Charlie. Charlie and Lizzy laughed at this; Jane smiled, and Will scowled.

"Louisa and I found out when Charlie brought Will home at Thanksgiving," Caroline said.

"So you hid in his bedroom to listen to him talk in his sleep?" Lizzy asked, innocently.

"I most certainly didn't," Caroline scoffed.

"What did I do?" Louisa asked.

"You found out about Will being British," Caroline told her.

"No, I didn't," Louisa said, flipping a page. "Charlie told me."

"Charlie believed I might have an easier time feeling comfortable in his home, if the truth was not concealed from his family," Will said slowly.

"And did it work?" Charlie asked.

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy was silent.

"Come on, Will," Charlie said. "Did it work?"

"Yes."

Grinning, Charlie sat back down and leaned against the fireplace. "That's all I needed to hear," he told Jane, who covered her mouth with her hand to restrain her laugh.

"So, when you got to BU, you had enough faith in your sex appeal that you didn't feel like you needed to switch back to your original accent?" Lizzy said.

Will wasn't sure if he was being mocked or not.

Charlie laughed. "Will didn't need any help with his love life when he got to college."

"How did you know that Charlie and I attended BU?" Will asked. wasn't the only website I visited," Lizzy said. "In case you were wondering, B.F.D brings up over two and a half million websites nowadays."

"See," Charlie told Will smugly. "I told you that we'd break three million sites by Christmas."

"You might need to work up a scandal to reach that number so fast," Will said.

"You offering?" Charlie asked.

"You seem to be doing quite well on your own."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Charlie, can I use your computer again?" Lizzy asked.

"Are you going to track down more skeletons in our closet?' Charlie asked, suspiciously.

"Yep," chirped Lizzy and grinned at Will, "but this way I have supervision. So, I can _understand_."

Now Will_ knew_ he was being mocked.

"Go ahead," Charlie sighed. To Jane, he said, "Has your sister always been this much trouble?"

Jane smiled. "She'd be much worse if she didn't like you."

"Well, that's a relief," Charlie said, and Jane laughed again behind her hand.

Will pondered briefly that Miss Elizabeth Bennet seemed to give him quite a bit more trouble than she did Charlie.

6.

The next morning—when Lizzy woke up early coughing and Charlie just woke up early, Charlie told Lizzy about the sad, sad childhood of the one called Dar: of his parents' failed marriage, of his mother's abandonment and subsequent death in Boston ("an _accident_," Charlie emphasized, as if it needed to be emphasized), his father's decline into alcoholism and subsequent death ("a heart attack," Charlie shrugged, as if there was a story there, too), and Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy's inheritance of the Pemberley estate and guardianship of his sister Georgiana Darcy at the age of twenty.

"A very sad story," Lizzy told Charlie, which it was—if it were all true. Lizzy didn't suspect Charlie of lying, but she could easily see a young Will Darcy feeding the story to his gullible roommate and keeping it up for years, when he couldn't figure out a way to extricate himself from such an elaborate lie. After all, that Darcy hadn't managed to break it to the public that Boston's all-American college band was one-third British.

"Don't tell him that I told you," Charlie said. "He's very secretive."

Lizzy couldn't imagine that even with such a "secretive" rock star, this story wouldn't have leaked; the whole thing was fodder for a nice two-hour-long segment on the _E! Entertainment _Channel.

"That's why he's so moody," Charlie offered hesitantly. "He just really wants to go home, but since the tour, the press has been following us everywhere. Fitz gave them some pics of him and his wife in their underwear, and they agreed to ignore us while we're living here."

Lizzy grinned. "You probably should've told the university paper."

"No one really _reads_ those anyway."

"I won't tell, Charlie," Lizzy said, because he still seemed so nervous.

"He'd be really mad," Charlie continued, "but I wanted you to understand—"

"Charlie, where the bloody hell are my keys?" said someone in the hallway. "Your sister snuck into my bloody room again last night; I bloody well _told_ you to talk to her about that."

"I _did_, Will," Charlie said, "but you should really understand how uncomfortable it is for a younger brother to scold his older sister for showing off her latest purchase from Victoria Secret."

"She doesn't fucking shop at _Victoria Secret_, for Chrissake," muttered Will, as he strode into the living room. "Caroline only goes for Versace—oh," he said, spotting Lizzy and stopping in his tracks.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," said Lizzy nodding decorously.

"Oh, fuck," said Will and fell into the closest chair with his hand over his face.

"Are you always going to call him that?" Charlie asked.

Lizzy grinned at Will. "Only when it stops amusing me."

"Which will be never," scoffed Will.

"Well, I gotta say—" Lizzy leaned forward mock-serious, but she was smiling. "Your reactions aren't cutting back any on the potential amusement."

"I just want to go _home_," Will moaned through his hands.

"Same here," commented Lizzy. "Hey, is the driveway cleared?"

"You know," said Charlie, getting up, "I'll go check."

"You don't have to do that," Lizzy said, hurriedly, "or—I could do it just as easily as you."

"No, I'll go," Charlie insisted; Lizzy expected that this might be Charlie's opportunity to go check on Jane. "You're my guest," he added with a grin before he left, and Lizzy was alone—completely alone—with Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy.

Lizzy sighed and pulled her book towards her; after a moment, Will removed his hands from his face and reached for his computer. There was the _bing!_ of his Powerbook, and Lizzy felt it was her responsibility to _say_ something, to break the silence. She turned and opened her mouth at the same time a tall, slim figure in a purple satin robe threw open the door and cried, "Will! I found you!"

"Morning," said Lizzy quickly, in case Caroline didn't notice her in time and the Versace lingerie was revealed again.

"Oh," said Caroline obviously disappointed. "Elizabeth. Morning."

Lizzy nodded once and returned to her book.

"Will, what are you doing so early in the morning?" Caroline asked, perching on the air of his chair and leaning until her chest was pressed against his arm. "I find that I'm not good for much, except, well…a select few but up_lift_ing activities."

Lizzy wondered if there was any way to leave the room gracefully.

"Damn," said Will, getting up so quickly that Caroline nearly fell off the arm of the chair. "Battery's low; where the devil is my power cord?"

"Still in the wall," Lizzy said pointing. "Right behind you."

"So it is," said Will, bending to reach for it. "Thanks," he added curtly, before sitting on the sofa.

"Will," said Caroline, "you didn't answer me; what are you _doing_?"

"Writing my sister."

"That's what you were doing _yesterday_."

"Yes, but as she's replied to me twice over the night, I feel I must be prompt in my reply."

"You're such a kind brother."

Will seemed to not feel a need to reply to this, and Lizzy wondered if Charlie's story might be true. After all, siblings who suffered together like that were usually very close.

"You type so fast," said Caroline.

"That's what you said _yesterday_," said Lizzy with only a hint of a grin, and Caroline and Will turned to her.

"You're certainly a good reader," scoffed Caroline. "That's what _you_ were doing yesterday; what's so interesting?"

"_Bing: A Biography_," said Lizzy, grin widening. "Tell me: is it true that you tried to flush a box of baking soda down your toilet and needed to have your septic tank replaced?"

"That was _Louisa_!"

"Oh, sorry—it just says 'older sister;' I didn't know," said Lizzy, who returned to her book and thought she was safe until she spotted purple satin at her elbow. Lizzy looked up to see Caroline smiling down at here and felt a chill crawl up her spine.

"I was wondering if you might want to walk around the room with me, Lizzy," Caroline said. Lizzy snorted, smiling until Caroline added somewhat huffily, "Come on; I'd like to see that famous walk of Beth Bennette, supermodel."

"Oh," Lizzy said. "You're serious." Since she felt slightly guilty for laughing, she stood up, saying apologetically, "I didn't do much runway. Mostly photo shoots, actually. I certainly wasn't a supermodel."

Once Lizzy was standing, Caroline looped her arm through her companion's, and steered them along at a leisurely pace around the circumference of the room; Lizzy's guilt wore off in a few seconds, so she said, "I know I said I didn't have much experience with runway, but I don't remember anything like this."

"No, but it's refreshing, isn't it?" Caroline asked, arching an eyebrow at Lizzy as if she were daring her to argue; Lizzy couldn't decide whether to reply or to figure out a way to reclaim her hand, when Caroline asked, "Wouldn't you like to join us, Will?"

"Certainly not," Will said. Lizzy couldn't see him, but she could hear the keys of his laptop clacking.

Lizzy wondered if she should tell Caroline that her robe was gaping open, or if Caroline had just managed to make that slice of chest seem careless; she guessed the latter. She tried to wiggle her hand a little, but Caroline clasped her tighter. "Oh? And why not?" Caroline asked, smiling. "I can see you watching us; doesn't it look like fun?"

"It looks like you want me to see you, and I see you fine from here."

Lizzy wondered if her freedom was worth making a scene.

"Oh, Will—be_have_," Caroline said, and Lizzy snorted (freedom was definitely worth making a scene).

"That's the worst Austin Powers impression I've heard in a _while_," Lizzy said, and Caroline was insulted enough to let her go.

"Austin Powers?" said Will gaping.

"Yep. Spy. British. Bad teeth," said Lizzy, crossing the room in four swift paces to return to her seat.

"Mike Myers is American," Will protested.

"Uh, _Canadian_ actually," Lizzy said. " But bad teeth are definitely British. Let's see yours, Mr. Darcy; go like this." She wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth, which were white and even; Will rolled his eyes. "Or you could just smile; we don't see that all too often from you."

Will smiled at that, despite himself, despite the fact that Caroline was seating herself on the couch next to him.

"Oh, darn," said Lizzy with real disappointment. "Your teeth are fine; it's bound to be something else, then."

"What?" Will asked.

"Your fault," explained Lizzy. "You're bound to have one. You see, Mr. Darcy, I found out your biggest secret, and now, I need to find out your greatest fault. Get myself a matched set."

"Calling me Mr. Darcy isn't enough of a thrill for you?"

"No, that'll get old real fast—for me _and_ for you," Lizzy said. "So, what's your fault, Mr. Darcy? You have to answer me, or I'll be forced to make one up." Will wasn't sure if he could answer, and Lizzy only gave him a half-second's chance. "Poor Mr. Darcy, you're playing right into my hands. Yellow toenails? Hair on your back? A lazy eye? A quick temper? Pride? Vanity?"

"Pride isn't a fault," Will said.

"No?" said Lizzy, and she laughed. "Are you sure? Or are you too vain to consider it one?"

"If there _is_ something to be justifiably proud about…" Will began, frowning.

Lizzy laughed again. "And who's the one to justify it?"

Caroline had had enough of a conversation that excluded her and said, "I guess we'll just have to assume that Will's perfect, then."

Lizzy wasn't sure how the three of them managed to get to that conclusion, but she managed not to snicker. Will looked her full in the face and said, "I'm certainly not perfect. My good opinion—once lost---is lost forever."

The seriousness of his answer shocked the smile off Lizzy's face. "That _is_ a fault, then," she sighed. "And it's not even funny."

Jane Bennet entered the room, yawning, "What's not funny, Lizzy?" Then, Jane caught sight of Caroline's robe, stopped, and looked down quickly at her own t-shirt and jeans, and Lizzy couldn't stop herself from laughing at her sister's expression. "_What_? What's so funny?"

"Mr. Darcy's not funny," Lizzy said. 'His fault, I mean."

"That's really not very nice, Liz," Jane said. "Just because everybody doesn't come equipped with the same sense of humor you have doesn't mean—Charlie, what's wrong?"

Charlie Bingley was standing in the doorway, with his blonde hair sprayed out like a tousled fan on his left side and his eyebrows pulled together in a hesitant scowl. "Well, the good news is that the driveway's been cleared."

"_Finally_," said Caroline and Lizzy together, and it was hard to tell who was more upset about that coincidence.

"I should take a shower and get ready to go, then," Jane said.

"What else, Charlie?" asked Will from the sofa.

"Lizzy, you have a visitor," Charlie said, still frowning. "He was at the door."

The Bennet sisters exchanged glances. "Who?" Lizzy asked.

"Your fiancé."

7.

"My _what_?" said Lizzy, aghast.

Will dropped his laptop.

"Your _what_?" cried Caroline delighted.

Will hurriedly picked up his laptop.

"Jane, I'm not engaged," Lizzy said, and Will was surprised to hear the note of question in her voice.

"You're not engaged," Jane soothed.

"Then, who?" Lizzy asked. Then, she scowled. "If it's Charlotte, I'll—"

"No," said Charlie. "No, it was definitely a man. Short. A moustache.—Hold on; I'll get him." He left the room.

"Oh," said Jane, as if that settled it.

"Who?" asked Lizzy.

Jane winced. "Collins."

"Shit!"

"_Lizzy!"_

"Jane, quick—repeal the you-can't-ski-home clause; I'll sneak around the back, and—"

"Lizzy, if Charlie's already let him in, you should really see him," Jane scolded. "He did fly all this way."

"And followed me to Charlie's _house_," Lizzy said. "He's a _stalker_; I don't know why you won't let me get a restraining order."

"He's not a bad person, and—"

"Easy for you to say; he doesn't want to marry _you_."

"I don't think he'd ever hurt you."

"That's because I'd kick his ass before he could even get close."

"_Lizzy_."

"_Jane_."

"My dear Miss Eliza Bennet," said an entirely different voice, smooth and skulking, "what a pleasure to see you again. My, your accomodations have improved since our last meeting." The figure in the doorway was small, only just matching Lizzy's 5'8" frame. He had a slight paunch straining at the vest of his forest-green, three-piece suit and a very hearty moustache that did its best to take attention from his comb-over.

"It's _Lizzy_," she sighed, "and I don't live here."

"It reminds me a great deal of Rosings, that little place in upstate New York I'm fixing up for Mrs. De Borough," continued Mr. Collins. He gestured to the windows with a well-manicured hand. "Eighteen foot windows--$965 each. Marble frames--$600 each. And these _hardwood floors_, my God! Look at the inlay, the craftsmanship, oh!"

Lizzy had forgotten that Mr. Collins made conversation like an American Express commercial. "We don't live here, Mr. Collins," Lizzy repeated with a resigned patience. "We still live in the same apartment we lived in last month; I don't know why you didn't look for us there."

"Oh, but I did, my dear Miss Eliza," said Mr. Collins. "Your charming roommate directed me here."

"My charming roommate won't be so charming when I get through with her," Lizzy muttered darkly.

"What was that, my darling?" asked Mr. Collins.

"You don't want me to repeat it," Lizzy told him.

"Now, my dear—" began Mr. Collins with a sigh. "There should be no secrets between us; the secret of a happy marriage is communication.—Perhaps, your friends would like to meet your fiancé?"

"Why do you keep introducing yourself as my fiancé? We're not engaged," she told Mr. Collins. To Charlie, she insisted, "We're _not_ engaged."

"Okay," agreed Charlie nodding.

"My dear Miss Eliza, don't you think our engagement can be made public now? Your insistence on our secrecy, my darling, is frankly becoming ridiculous—"

"_What_ engagement?" snapped Lizzy.

Caroline stood, smiling her most charming smile. Lizzy rolled her eyes; she knew Caroline was loving this. "Hello, Mr. Collins. I'm Miss Bingley." She held out her hand, which Mr. Collins took and bent to kiss.

"A pleasure," announced Mr. Collins.

"Ugh," snorted Lizzy.

"This is my brother, Charlie Bingley," said Caroline sweetly; Charlie nodded with a half grin. "I suppose, you know Jane already, but this is—"

"Oh, Mr. Darcy!" cried Mr. Collins, moving from Caroline to peel Will's hand away from his keyboard and shake it vigorously.

"Looks like Mr. Darcy missed a bribe payment," mused Lizzy, smiling for the first time since Mr. Collins had entered the room.

"Have we met?" Will asked Mr. Collins coldly, as he withdrew his hand.

"Yes! At the house of your dear aunt, the wise and illustrious Mrs. Catherine de Borough," said Mr. Collins, smiling as if he didn't notice Mr. Darcy's scowl.

"Oh, well, that explains it," Lizzy muttered. "From what I've heard of the de Borough's bitch, there's a family resemblance, too." Will shifted his scowl to her, and Lizzy was embarrassed that he'd heard.

"You really must come to wedding," Mr. Collins was telling Will. "You must; we haven't set a date, yet, but it'll be—"

"Mr. Collins, have I told you today that we are _not_, have _never_ been, and will _never be_ engaged?" Lizzy said.

"Yes, Miss Eliza, you _say_ that," Mr. Collins agreed, "but I had the pleasure –or should I say, the _honor_—of discussing the matter with the wise and illustrious Mrs. Borough. She tells me that many a modern young woman turns down offers of marriage that she may accept upon a second avowal of love. So, my dear, let me once again praise your beauty—your untrimmed brown hair, your slightly chapped, but well-formed lips, your—"

Caroline snickered.

"Mr. _Collins_!" Lizzy interrupted. "With respect to your employer, she's never met me, so isn't there a good chance that she could be _wrong_ about me?"

"Oh, but sweet Miss Eliza," said Mr. Collins, "Mrs. de Borough is rarely wrong."

"She is actually quite frequently wrong," Will said from the sofa. "Especially in such matters of love."

Lizzy threw Will a grin of gratitude. "So, Mr. Collins, I'm sorry, but I have to refuse your offer. Just as I refused it last month and the month before that."

"And the month before _that_," Jane offered.

"So, if you would _please_ go home, or go wherever—" Lizzy began again but stopped when she noticed that Mr. Collins was still smiling.

"Mrs. de Borough warned me that it might come to this," Mr. Collins said.

"Uh-oh," said Lizzy paling.

"Oh-ho," said Caroline smirking.

"My dear, I had hoped that you would not be _that_ type of young lady—to need such a flagrant display of affection, but for you, my darling…" he said. Then, slowly, wobbling, he bent and knelt on one knee.

"Oh, my God," moaned Lizzy, her hands over her face.

Mr. Collins drew a small box out of the inside pocket of his forest-green jacket and opened it to reveal a ring with a diamond large enough to make Caroline squeak in surprise. "Dear, sweet, beautiful Miss Eliza Bennet," said Mr. Collins, "I kneel here before you, not as a successful businessman, nor as the indispensable employee of the wise and illustrious Mrs. de Borough, but as a man in _love_. I ask that you become the companion of my future life, my love and my bride."

The room was silent. Lizzy's jaw was set; her eyes were narrowed. "_No_," replied Lizzy.

"My dear," said Mr. Collins, rising with a long-suffering sigh and the cracks of his leg joints, "really—what must I do for you to accept my love?"

"Don't give me that shit," snapped Lizzy. "You don't love me. This de Borough woman told you that you should be married by your age, so you showed up on my doorstep four month ago with my face on a file and you proposed. You've come every fifth of the month to repeat yourself. I don't give a fuck if we're cousins eight times removed or whatever; we _aren't_ family. I don't have to be nice, and I certainly don't have to marry you—"

"Miss Eliza," said Mr, Collins, still smiling, which Lizzy took to be a very bad sign, "Mrs. de Borough told me that this might happen; she told me what measures I might have to resort to, for a young modern romantic like you. While I'm afraid that I didn't think I would have to do this in public, I fear it's the only way."

"It won't work," said Lizzy, in an irritated sing-song, "even if it is prescribed by the all-knowing Mrs.—"

Mr. Collins then surprised everyone by taking Lizzy by the shoulders, swinging her into a dip, and kissing her stoutly on the mouth.

This brought a range of reactions:

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy stood up scowling.

Louisa Bingley looked up from her book, flipped a page, and continued reading.

Caroline Bingley burst into a fit of giggles.

Charlie Bingley took a step forward and said, "Um…"

Jane Bennet gasped and clapped both hands over her face.

Lizzy screamed against his mouth, squirmed out of Mr. Collins' grip, and punched him in the nose.

"What the fuck!" shouted Lizzy.

Will realized that he was standing and promptly resumed his seat.

"Lizzy!" hissed Jane.

"_What_?" Lizzy snapped at her sister. "The little shit just put his tongue in my mouth, and I'm not allowed to get a little upset?"

"Dear God, I think—" said Mr. Collins stuffily. "I believe you've broken my nose. Oh! Oh, it hurts!" The rest of the room noticed for the first time the blood blooming from between Mr. Collins' fingers.

"Good," said Lizzy icily. "Now, get the hell out."

"I—" said Collins, staring at her. "That's assault; I could have you arrested."

"Same here," growled Lizzy. "For stalking _and_ sexual harassment. That's one charge up on you, pal. _Out_."

"I—" started Mr. Collins again.

"Charlie!" snapped Lizzy, and when Charlie jumped, Lizzy's scowl softened. "Sorry, but isn't he trespassing, yet?"

8.

After Charlie threw Mr. Collins out (with directions to the nearest hospital) and after Jane spent a good amount of time calming Lizzy down despite Caroline's snickers, Jane went to shower and pack, and Charlie returned to apologize for letting the so-called fiancé in. The doorbell interrupted his third apology.

"If it's Mr. Collins again," said Lizzy evenly, "please tell him that I've thrown myself off the roof and am no longer available on the marriage market."

"Don't do that," Charlie said. "I'll just call the police."

After he left the room, Lizzy mused aloud, "He _does_ know I was kidding, right?"

"He's rather literal," Will replied.

Lizzy met his gaze over his laptop. "Don't you dare laugh."

"I didn't—" started Will, but then, Charlie entered the room again, looking like he'd accidentally swallowed his gum.

"Lizzy, I think I may have done something bad."

"Charlie, if you accidentally ran a fist into Mr. Collins, I'm sure it's fine."

"No, he's gone. It's—um, well, you have another visitor."

"Well, he can't be worse than Collins."

Charlie swallowed. "Your mother."

Lizzy paled. "Who called my mother?"

"I did," apologized Charlie. "Before I got a hold of you, during the ice storm. I gave her the address, because I didn't realize she lived so far away. I thought if she's sick, Jane might want her mother…"

"You didn't know my mother," Lizzy said with a short laugh.

"Lizzy, I'm sorry," Charlie said.

Lizzy shook her head and smiled. "It's okay; where is she?"

"'Where is she?'" repeated a brash voice from the hallway. Lizzy was very still, as a middle-aged woman with gray in her red hair, crow's feet around her eyes, and dog hair all over her over-sized black sweater. "'Where _is_ she?' Honestly, I'm not the Black Plague."

"Good morning, Mother," Lizzy said quietly. "It's been a while."

"That's your own fault," snapped Mrs. Bennet. "You're the one who chose not to come home this summer."

"I was working, ma'am," said Lizzy, "and I did visit at the Fourth of July."

"Where's your sister?" Mrs. Bennet demanded.

"In the shower, ma'am."

"Don't give me that shit, Jane Elizabeth Bennet," Mrs. Bennet said. "I didn't drive all the way from Chicago to be fooled by your little tricks; who the hell do you think you are to keep a mother from her daughter?"

Lizzy reminded herself to stand straight and to look her mother in the eye. "I'm not tricking you, ma'am; she'll be out as soon as she's done."

Mrs. Bennet snorted and glanced around. "Well? Where are we? Who are these people?"

"We're at the residence of Charles Bingley, our host, who you met over the phone—" began Lizzy.

Charlie nodded, with a shy smile. "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance; any woman with such a wonderful pair of daughters must be—"

"Yes, Jane's turned out well, hasn't she?" said Mrs. Bennet sharply, looking straight at Lizzy, who sighed. Charlie looked abashed and couldn't think of a thing to say.

"This is Charlie's older sister," continued Lizzy, gesturing at Caroline, who merely raised her eyebrow.

"Well, she's fairly pretty," said Mrs. Bennet, and Caroline preened, "but don't hold your breath on her personality."

"Excuse _me_," started Caroline.

"Yes, excuse you," replied Mrs. Bennet, with one arched eyebrow of her own. "You're the one still in her robe at 11:30 in the morning."

Caroline looked affronted, and Will coughed into his hand in a way that sounded a lot like a laugh.

"And this is Mr. Darlington," Lizzy said, ignoring the brief flash of panic over Will's face, "Charlie's friend and bandmate."

"_Bandmate_?" asked Mrs. Bennet, in an entirely different tone, a tone that matched the appraising look that she used on Charlie and Will.

Lizzy winced; Will could see her mentally kicking herself.

"_Lizzy_," said Mrs. Bennet, "that's your cue to tell me more about these two gentlemen."

"Do you really not recognize them?" huffed Caroline. "This is Bing and Dar from B.F.D."

"Hmph," said Mrs. Bennet, looking down her nose at Caroline, which was quite a feat for someone at least a head shorter. "The wife of a pop star? I always knew Jane was beautiful for something."

"_Mother!_" hissed Lizzy; she couldn't look at Charlie. Or Will. "Jane and Charlie aren't even dating."

"Lizzy, if you and Jane have spent the weekend already," Mrs. Bennet said, pityingly, "you'd better call it dating. As for you, what are you doing with this fellow? What happened to that other one? Something Collins?"

Caroline gasped. "She and Will aren't together."

Mrs. Bennet shook her head disapprovingly. "Well, I understand that Mr. Collins isn't very attractive, Lizzy, but you should really await until the wedding to have flings on the side."

"They aren't—" shouted Caroline.

"Caroline!" said Lizzy sharply. "Maybe you should go check on Louisa." When Caroline opened her mouth to argue, Lizzy added, "_Please_," and Caroline turned her nose into the air and left the room. "Mom, I'm _not_ marrying Collins."

"But he came all the way to Chicago to ask for your hand last August," said Mrs. Bennet thoughtfully.

"Yes, but there's a difference between you agreeing to the match and me agreeing—"

"Like I told you on the phone, Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet said with a long suffering sigh. "I looked him up on the world wide web; he's worth at least six million."

Lizzy closed her eyes and pressed her lips together so hard they turned white; when she turned to her mother, her eyes were in slits. "Unfortunately, ma'am," Lizzy said, "those six million come with some unavoidable drawbacks, including a husband like Collins."

Mrs. Bennet shook her hand and threw her hands up in the air; Will noticed she had large-jeweled rings on almost every finger. "I've taught you nothing; I wash my hands of you." Lizzy snorted. "Look at what you've done; you've cleared the room with your bad attitude."

Lizzy looked around; Charlie had followed Caroline's example and disappeared. Lizzy hoped that he'd gone for help, for Jane, and then wondered how much he'd heard; then she noticed Will on the couch with his computer still in his lap and realized it didn't matter. Mr. Darcy was probably taking notes to give Charlie a detailed account later.

"Jane will probably be out soon," Lizzy offered, wrapping her arms around her middle.

"Wonderful," Mrs. Bennet said, looking at the marble floor. After a moment, she added, "This really is a nice place; Jane will be…"

"Mom!" cried Jane, before Lizzy could contradict her mother. Jane barreled through the doorway, her hair in wet, dark red ringlets. "Lizzy!"

Will and Lizzy got to see Mrs. Bennet smile for the first time this morning, as she walked across the room with her arms and rings outstretched to embrace her eldest daughter. "Jane! Sweetie!"

Charlie came in behind Jane, carrying Lizzy's backpack; he'd brought her. "Thanks," Lizzy mouthed at him, as her mother and sister hugged. Charlie grinned and shrugged.

"Hi, Mom!" said Jane, smiling but slightly out of breath. "Sorry—I was in the shower."

"Jane, dear—that's sweet, but you don't need to cover for your sister," said Mrs. Bennet, cupping her daughter's face in her hand. "Oh, you even wet your hair. You really should have, especially when you're sick."

"But—" Jane started, helplessly, and she and Lizzy exchanged glances. Lizzy shook her head once and shrugged a little. "Mom, why are you _here_?"

"To take you to the doctor, of course."

"But Mom, it's a twenty-five hour drive for you to take me to the doctor," Jane reminded her, "and I'm not that sick."

"Don't worry, Jane," Mrs. Bennet crooned. "Didn't I tell you when you left home for college that I'd come any time you needed me?"

Jane smiled. "Thanks, Mom; I guess…" she said, meeting Lizzy's eyes and looking quickly away. "We should go, then; the doctor's office should be opened by now."

"_Finally_," said Mrs. Bennet, slinging her arm around Jane's shoulders and steering her out the room; Lizzy caught a flash of Charlie's wide eyes before he grimaced apologetically and followed Jane and Mrs. Bennet out. Lizzy could still hear their conversation as their footfalls clacked in the hall. "You should have seen, Jane, how your sister tried to _handle_ me."

Lizzy sucked in a deep breath. She let it out. She looked at the wooden floor. Then, she looked up and started out the window, reaching out to touch the marble sill with the tips of her fingers. Will realized that she was watching her sister and mother leave, probably composing a photograph she couldn't bring herself to take. He glanced into her face and saw her mouth set and her eyes dry of tears, and he decided that it was her eyes—green, or maybe blue—unhappy, but absolutely fierce. Lizzy's eyes were what made her beautiful.

"Lizzy," said Charlie, returning to the room; he had snow on his boots that fell off and melted on the marble. "_Shit_, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

When Lizzy turned away from the window, she was smiling; she even shrugged. "Don't worry about it; I _apologize_ for her behavior by the way. She's pretty ridiculous," Lizzy said.

"But are you all right, Lizzy?" asked Charlie. "She—"

"She and my father are divorced," explained Lizzy, "and Mom didn't take it well. I'm a lot like my father, so—" She shrugged, again.

"No, you seem to be much like your mother," said Will from the couch, and both Lizzy and Charlie turned to him.

"Congratulations, Mr. Darcy," said Lizzy with a smirk, as she began to gather her books. "You just managed to insult me in the only way my mother didn't think of."

Will was polite enough to look chastened; over Lizzy's bent head, Charlie mouth, "Do you _have_ to be such an asshole?"

"I didn't mean—" started Will.

"It's _fine_," Lizzy told them, looking at Will. "Good to make your acquaintance, Mr. _Darcy_." Will winced. "Charlie, thanks for having us. Sorry we've been so much trouble, but I really should get back. I have a class this afternoon."

Charlie tried to convince Lizzy to call Charlotte for a ride, or to let him drive her home, but Lizzy wouldn't hear of it, even after Charlie told her that Jane had already second-guessed Lizzy and taken the skis with her. Lizzy snorted and replied, "Well, I _walk_, too; Jane must've forgotten." Charlie followed her out, still trying to persuade her to accept some help.

Will sat on the couch and watch his screensaver; he jumped when he heard a voice by his ear. "I know what _you're_ thinking, Will." Caroline dropped into a seat next to him, again clad in Versace but in a dress and boots this time.

Will didn't feel like he needed to respond to that.

"You're thinking about the Bennet bitch."

"Which one?" said Will.

Caroline laughed. "You're terrible, Will; the mother, of course."

"Wrong."

"You were thinking of Jane?" Caroline snorted. "Don't tell Charlie."

"Of Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" huffed Caroline.

"She seemed quite upset."

Caroline's hands dropped to her lap. "You aren't serious?"

"She was almost crying; wouldn't you hate to have her mother?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you two will be really happy together; should I shop for a fall wedding or spring?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"That Lizzy has to be really stubborn, or really strong," said Charlie. "She's just marching down the driveway like it's nothing; I've never met any girls like the Bennets. Do you think there's more of them?"

Instead of replying, Will turned in his seat, peered over the back of the sofa, and looked out the window to where a small, determined figure was striding purposefully up the lane. He mused that with the curve of the road and the thread of footprints against the line of trees, it would make a good picture.


	4. Adventures in Caribou

_Author's Note:_ Okay, I'm not sure how clear this was in the last chapter, but if I don't explain it right, things won't make sense. Fitzwilliam Darcy grew up in England. In his senior year of high school, he transferred to the US to finish up school, because money was running low at Pemberley and his mother's family in Boston (the Darlington's) offered to pay for the rest of his education. They registered him at his new school as Fitzwilliam Darlington, and because Will wanted to fit in, he adopted an American accent. Only Charlie knew that he was really British. Then Will and Charlie are accepted to and attend Boston University, and Will still pretends to be American because it's easier than switching. After B.F.D. gets popular, Will keeps pretending that he's a Bostonian named Fitzwilliam Darlington, because he's a private person and doesn't want the paparazzi following him back to England. So, at the beginning of the story, he's really upset that he can't go home to Pemberley, because the paparazzi will probably follow him and reveal his secret. Also, with strangers, he has to talk with an American accent, but he can revert to his British accent with people who know that he's actually British, mainly the Bingleys and the Bennets. (Basically, I just wanted Darcy to stay British, because I'm a sucker for the accent.)

Anyway, thank you to the people that reviewed! And to Lootz, thanks for correcting me on Mike Myers' nationality; I went back and changed it. :o)

1.

Lizzy stumbled out of her darkroom and noticed that a wedding had exploded in the living room. Or a wedding magazine at least. The floor was strewn with catalogues of white dresses, of place settings, of ice sculptures, of bridesmaids' dresses and flower arrangements. Lizzy stopped staring at the floor and looked to the kitchen, where Charlotte Lucas was seated with Mr. Collins.

Then Lizzy snorted so loudly that Charlotte glanced up from the selection of ribbons she was selecting. "Lizzy, where are you going?"

"Out," replied Lizzy, reaching for her backpack.

"Again? Why?" Charlotte was getting up, and Lizzy stuffed a stack of folders and books into her backpack.

"Gotta study," Lizzy said, walking to the door. "Exams next week, remember?"

"Yeah, and my graduation," Charlotte said, half-smiling.

"And then, your wedding," Lizzy said, and the word wedding hung in the air between them.

"Charlotte, darling," called Mr. Collins.

"Bye," said Lizzy, yanking open the door.

"Lizzy, I—" called Charlotte, but Lizzy was already stuffing her head in her cap and tramping down the stairway.

It took her three minutes in the wintry wind to get to the mall, and another four to sidestep the Christmas shoppers to get to Caribou coffee. Those seven minutes were all the time Lizzy allowed herself to waste thinking about Charlotte Lucas, soon-to-be Mrs. Charlotte Collins.

They hadn't forgiven each other yet.

It'd been over a month since the Bennet twins had been snowed in at Netherfield. The thirty minutes Lizzy spent walking back to her apartment were enough to get her cold, irritable, and overdue for a long, hot shower. So, she hadn't been very happy when she drew out her keys, fumbled with the lock of the apartment door, and walked into her living room to discover Mr. Collins on her couch. Lizzy hadn't react well; in fact she'd screamed. She'd also stumbled backward and warned Collins loudly not to touch her, telling him that she knew tae kwon do, before Charlotte Lucas came out of the bedroom and announced, "Guess what, Lizzy? I'm getting married!"

Collins smugly excused himself, kissed Charlotte on the cheek, and left to return to Rosings. When he was gone, Lizzy sat down at her kitchen table with a steaming mug of peppermint tea and stared at her roommate. "You're marrying Collins?"

"Yeah," said Charlotte smiling.

Lizzy stared into her tea and tried to process it. "_Collins_?"

"Why not Collins?" said Charlotte lightly.

"Well, you don't love him."

"No, I don't," Charlotte replied airily, "and he doesn't love me."

Lizzy frowned and rubbed at the handle of her Snoopy mug. "But—"

"Don't be so naïve, Lizzy," Charlotte scoffed. "Not everybody who gets married loves their spouse."

"Usually though, they at least _think_ they do," Lizzy muttered, taking a sip of tea. "They're at least _attracted_ to their spouse."

"He has what I need, and that's all that matters," Charlotte declared.

"What? A comb-over? Three-piece suits? A life of grateful slavery to Mrs. de Borough?"

"_Money_, Lizzy," snapped Charlotte. "Don't be stupid. I'm graduating this semester. My parents are cutting me off, so I can't go back another degree."

"I can help you, Charlotte," Lizzy offered, looking up hopefully. "We'll figure something out; I'll go with you to Financial Aid."

"Being a student is just an excuse to give me time to paint, Lizzy," said Charlotte. "You know that. You can understand; you're a photographer."

"But—" said Lizzy.

"I'm twenty-seven, Lizzy; you're only twenty. You're so young; you don't know yet that—"

"Women marry men for their money?" Lizzy asked sharply; the accusation began the wall that grew between them.

Charlotte's eyes were narrowed and her lips tight. "I'm a _painter_, Lizzy; that's all I've ever wanted to do, you know that. I'll do anything to achieve that goal."

"Support _yourself_," growled Lizzy. "Get a _job_."

"Think of it like a job," Charlotte said slowly. "It pays for everything in exchange for…"

"Sex," spat Lizzy.

"_Companionship_," replied Charlotte glaring.

"They have another name for what you're doing, no matter what the hell you want to call it," hissed Lizzy. "It starts with a 'P' and ends with—"

"Don't you dare judge me, Lizzy!" Charlotte screamed, and it scared Lizzy that Charlotte was crying. "Don't you see? I'm twenty-seven; I've never worked. The only jobs that'll take me are the ones that will use me up and suck me dry, and there won't be anything left of me to paint. This is the only thing I'm good at. I'm not pretty. Things don't fall in my lap the way they fall into yours and Jane's; I may never get another chance."

Lizzy refused to pity her. "You didn't even _try_, Charlotte."

That was when it got ugly: Charlotte accused Lizzy of being jealous and of being catty and fickle. She'd asked if Collins wasn't allowed to love someone else. She said maybe it was possible that he could love someone other than Lizzy, that maybe he actually did love Charlotte after all and had loved her all this time.

Lizzy stuck a finger in her tea to make sure that it was now lukewarm before calmly pouring it out over Charlotte's head. "You're hysterical," Lizzy informed her before locking herself in the bathroom for a well-deserved hot shower.

After that, despite Jane's attempts at reconciliation, they wouldn't talk to each other for two weeks. Charlotte refused to be wrong, and Lizzy knew she was right.

Charlotte broke down first; all she said was "good morning" in the kitchen while they were waiting for their morning coffee to brew, but it was deliberate. It was a peace offering.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Lizzy said slowly.

"I need your support," Charlotte said, and Lizzy hated that she was begging.

"No," said Lizzy flatly.

"I can't do it, if you don't—" Charlotte snapped.

"Then don't do it," replied Lizzy, and Charlotte slammed her empty mug down and walked away.

Now, they were speaking again but barely. Lizzy was already counting down the days until the wedding (sixteen); it was going to be years before she could see a bridal magazine without feeling vaguely disgusted.

Lizzy arrived at Caribou and dropped her laptop bag in the corner next to the window, before ordering herself a mocha for comfort and flirting with Jack Wickham, the cashier, for kicks. Then she settled into her seat with her cup and books, making herself comfortable; it was going to be another long night.

2.

The visit of Mrs. Bennet hadn't damaged Jane and Charlie's "friendship," as both of them insisted on calling it, even though they were the talk of the town (but _not_ thankfully, the press).

Lizzy and Jane didn't talk about it, but Lizzy didn't feel that they needed to. It was pretty obvious—from Jane's incessant smile, distracted air, frequent blushes, and conversation topic of choice (Charlie was mentioned every few minutes)—that Jane was in love. Since Jane was happy and Charlie seemed happy, Lizzy assumed that everything was going well. Also, she didn't see much of either of them, and Lizzy was sure that if Jane needed some sisterly comfort, they'd find each other.

So, when a certain redhead pre-med student walked into Caribou followed by a certain blonde rockstar, who was carrying an assortment of shopping bags, just as Lizzy finished the fifth page of her Anthropology paper, Lizzy wondered if this was an indication that she should take a much-needed break.

"Why's she so pissed?" Charlie was saying. "I thought Lizzy hated Collins."

"She doesn't _hate_ Collins," Jane said, unzipping her purse, "but she definitely doesn't want to marry—"

"_Jane_," said Lizzy, snapping her laptop shut and grinning. Jane jumped and scattered the contents of her purse: mostly change, her wallet, and anatomy flashcards. "At least make sure I'm out of earshot before you start talking about me behind my back."

"Hey, Lizzy," said Charlie with a brief smile.

"_Lizzy_," said Jane, dropping to her hands and knees to scoop up the mess. "You didn't have to scare me."

"She didn't _mean_ to," Charlie said.

"Of course, but—" said Jane, standing up and stuffing her purse full again; then, she tried to pry two _Media Play_ bags out of Charlie's hand. "You should really let me help you with those; I'm feeling pretty guilty."

"Jane, I _got_ it," he said, pushing her gently away. "You're supposed to let me feel manly and strong."

"Fine," Jane huffed and held up her wallet. "How about you be _manly_ and hold my purse, while I buy you a coffee. You know, to fulfill my _womanly_ qualities?"

"Don't be like that," Charlie said.

"You could just put all those down," Lizzy offered. "Even stay and chat for a while."

Charlie sighed scowling and nodded, before dropping the bags under Lizzy's table.

"I'm buying you coffee," Jane told Charlie.

"Fine—I'll just have a small. And Black."

"Two cappuccinos, please," Jane told the aproned cashier. "Lizzy, you want anything?"

"I try to limit myself to one an hour, thanks," Lizzy said.

"Jane, I asked for—" protested Charlie.

"Stop being such a gentleman, Charlie," Jane scolded, handing a ten to the cashier. "Your usual isn't going to break my budget."

"What if what I really wanted was a small coffee?" Charlie asked irritably.

Jane pushed her hair away from her face. "Good thing I just know you too well."

"_Jane—"_

Jane smirked. "No more, Charlie, or I'll start singing Christmas Carols at you."

Lizzy laughed. "Better do it, Charlie; Jane has lip-synched the Happy Birthday song for years."

"No one wants to hear me sing," said Jane shrugging, as the girl behind the counter handed her the coffees. "I just ruin the harmony."

"Fine," sighed Charlie; he and Jane dropped into the unoccupied seats around Lizzy's table. They weren't looking at each other.

Lizzy snorted. "Well, it's a relief to know that Christmas shopping makes even the most good-natured two people in town get cranky."

Jane glanced at Charlie, who grinned sheepishly.

"So, this is where you study nowadays," Jane said to Lizzy.

"Yep," chirped Lizzy.

"But you have an apartment," Charlie said. "Why do you need to come here?"

"Our apartment's being used as Wedding Planning Grand Central," Jane explained.

"There's a limit to how much a girl can take," Lizzy scowled.

"Where'd you draw the line?" Jane asked Lizzy.

"I got out of there the day they introduced me to Ivan," Lizzy said. "Who keeps telling me in a very thick Russian accent how I need to _improve_ myself. You know—manicure, haircut, highlights, makeup, the works. I worked in a salon; I know how to take care of myself. I just don't."

Jane grimaced sympathetically.

"Who's Ivan?"

"Their wedding planner," Jane said.

"And Collins' ex-love," Lizzy said.

"Really?" said Charlie, gaping.

"No…" said Jane.

Lizzy's scowl was steely. "Yep. Collins told Charlotte that it was just one very drunk night in college, but by the look on his face, it meant more to Ivan than just a one-night stand."

3.

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy was pissed.

Will _hated_ malls. He couldn't believe Charlie had gotten him agree to meet here, to figure out something to give their sisters for Christmas. There were too many teenage girls for him to feel even remotely comfortable. One of them might recognize him. Or worse, talk to him. He might let something slip, and the Darlington-Darcy secret might be exposed again. Just as it had with Elizabeth Bennet.

Will scowled whenever he remembered her. He'd been forced to researched her when she hadn't contacted him; most people in his industry cracked down a week after he'd mentioned the word _bribe_. But Elizabeth Bennet was no longer a part of his industry. And even with all the reporters snooping around trying to find a new angle on the B.F.D., her discovery had been the quickest. He'd never had anyone call him out so quickly, so of course it bothered him that he knew nothing about her.

Except that she was, unfortunately, unpredictable.

So, he'd researched her and enlisted Charlie's help, who used it as an opportunity to reassure Will that he had nothing to worry about. Of course, what Charlie had found out wasn't really very helpful.

According to Charlie, who'd asked Jane, Lizzy had been a surprise to her mother. Mrs. Bennet's doctor had originally suspected twins but told their mother in the delivery room that one of the girls had died in utero. One healthy baby had been born first and named, and then twelve minutes and thirteen seconds later, a second smaller baby was born, the one predicted to be stillborn, that promptly began wailing loudly.

Mrs. Bennet had already used up both her names, so she named her younger daughter _Jane Elizabeth Bennet II_, Apparently Lizzy had never forgiven her mother.

"Where was their father?" Will asked horrified, when he found out.

"He'd already abandoned them." Charles scowled, and Will could only guess what else Jane had told him about her dad.

"Were they even married?" Will said.

"Jane says they were—"

"Jane's _mother_ says they were," Will corrected.

"In Vegas," Charlie went on.

"Ah," said Will as if this explained everything.

Lizzy had run away at sixteen. In the middle of the morning. Through the front door even. With the suitcases on the steps and her ride to the city (a friend) in the driveway. And even goodbyes—a hug for her sister and a nod at her mother. She had a new name and life waiting for her in the city.

"She even found her father," Charlie had told Will. "She and Jane have both met him, but Lizzy was the one who found him. At a gallery opening; he's a photographer, too. For National Geographic or something. She figured out which one he was, ordered a tonic water, and threw it in his face." Will laughed, surprising himself and Charlie. "Then she introduced herself. As Jane Elizabeth Bennet. The Second. They've been friends ever since."

"_Really?"_ said Will surprised.

Charlie shrugged. "Yeah."

"Shit," muttered Will.

"Jane says he's not married, but he travels a lot. He sends them postcards now from wherever he goes; they've got a whole wall of them hanging in their apartment."

"God," said Will.

"Yeah," agreed Charlie.

Most of the rest Will'd discovered on the internet: Lizzy had done well in New York under the care and counsel of her agent, Rebecca Gardiner. She'd held the three jobs that she'd named at Netherfield under the false name of Beth Bennette and the false age of nineteen. She'd earned enough to support herself and even saved enough to put herself through school with the help of an average-sized financial aid package, hers as long as she remained an honors student.

The only thing that the internet told him and he couldn't explain himself was the names of the Bennet twins: they were registered at Vickroot University as Jane Elinor Bennet and Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet.

"They changed them," Charlie told him when Will asked. "Their eighteenth birthday present to themselves. Made it legal and everything."

"She _chose_ Zipporah?" Will asked aghast.

"No, Jane did," said Charlie, and when Will snorted, Charlie explained, "Lizzy wanted to name herself 'Zippy;' that's what her dad calls her because she was so busy in the city. Jane convinced her that Zipporah was an improvement." Will had to admit that it was.

Will still didn't know what to think about Elizabeth Bennet, despite all he found out. The only conclusion he'd come to was that she was independent, proudly so—her self-funded education and her own name were badges of that independence. He'd never known or heard of anyone who had done so much to make things happen for herself.

And she was relentlessly self-reliant. Excessively so. Will suspected that she hadn't depended on anyone else in a very long time. Pardoning, of course, her twin sister.

Elizabeth Bennet's relationship with Jane was what really convinced him he didn't need to worry about her leaking his real name to the press. If anyone understood what it was to protect a sister, it was the Bennet twins. They'd had to—to survive a mother like theirs.

So, Will really had no excuse for thinking about the younger Bennet twin. No excuse for having an entire file of sites still bookmarked on his computer. No excuse for still taking mental notes whenever she became the topic of Jane and Charlie's frequent conversations at Netherfield.

No excuse for his mind to present him with her again and again, as she watched her mother take her sister away from Netherfield: with her blue or green eyes—unhappy, but absolutely fierce.

No excuse for him to stop in his tracks when he noticed Lizzy—in a Vickroot sweatshirt with her hair in a ponytail—seated with her legs stretched out and resting on the chair across from her, laughing between her twin sister and Charlie's bandmate.

No excuse for him to catch himself smiling.

No excuse for him to lose his temper when he saw the man she was introducing to Jane and Charlie.

4.

Most college students—when they take a break while studying for exams—tend to limit themselves to a certain amount of break time; few actually hold to their limits. Lizzy had exceeded hers sixteen minutes ago.

"Come on," Lizzy begged.

"No, I really—" Jane said and stopped. "I don't think that we should have our eggnog party this year."

"But everyone loves our Eggnog Party," Lizzy complained. "It's not Christmas without our Eggnog Party."

"What Eggnog Party?" asked Charlie.

"We make huge bowls of eggnog with varying levels of whisky in it," Lizzy explained, "and then we invite everyone we know to our apartment. It's a tradition. It used to be Jane's cookie swap party," Lizzy confided to Charlie, "but my eggnog was more popular."

"This year's different," Jane reminded her.

"How's it different?" Lizzy asked, crossing her arms.

"There's a lot already going on in our apartment."

Lizzy's expression darkened. "You mean Wedding Central." When Jane nodded, Lizzy snorted and turned to Charlie. "Jane's wrong; I do hate Collins."

"_Lizzy!_" cried Jane.

"_Well—_" replied Lizzy.

"I'm the one Charlotte has to come to," Jane argued. "_You_ aren't helping her."

"Of course not," Lizzy snapped. "She's throwing her life away."

Jane couldn't argue, and Charlie looked uncomfortable. Lizzy took pity on him. "Sorry, Charlie. I've been…well, this isn't me."

"Lizzy," said Jane with concern.

"Maybe," said Charlie cautiously, "we could have your party at my house."

Lizzy's eyes lit up, and her mouth fell open.

"At Netherfield?" Jane said.

Lizzy snapped her mouth closed. "I couldn't ask you to do that; it's too much work."

"No, I want to," said Charlie with a slow grin. "It's a great idea. I've been toying with the idea of having a party there for a while. Will keeps trying to talk me out of it, but this settles it. I'm having a Christmas party at Netherfield."

"Charlie…" Jane said, a smile creeping around her mouth.

"We'll invite everybody!" Charlie said, grinning and throwing his arms out wide. "Everybody in town."

"The press," Jane reminded him. "They're not going to be able to resist—"

"Hell," Charlie shrugged, still grinning, "we'll invite them, too."

The Bennet twins cheered, and Lizzy gripped his arm. "Charlie," she said, almost seriously, "I love you."

"_Lizzy!_" cried Jane.

"_What?_" said Lizzy. "I didn't say that I was _in_ love with him, but Charlie, you're the nicest rock star I've ever met."

"Stop it, Lizzy," said Charlie, covering his face bashfully. "You're making me blush." He wasn't really, but Lizzy had to stop herself from pointing out that Jane was a deeper shade of pink than usual.

"Lizzy, who're you declaring your love to over there?" asked a British voice behind the counter. "Should I be jealous?"

"Hey, Wickhead," said Lizzy, reaching a hand toward the tall, brown-haired cashier in an apron. "Come over here and meet my sister and our friend."

"Wickhead?" Jane asked incredulously. "His name is _Wickhead_?"

Lizzy grinned. "That's just what I heard when he introduced himself; his real last name's Wickham, though. Unfortunately."

"Most people call me 'Jack,'" he said, smirking at Lizzy.

"Not me," chirped Lizzy.

"Yes, Lizzy—not you," Jack agreed.

"Charlie," the other man said, shaking Jack's hand.

"Jane," said Jane shyly. "Nice to meet you, Jack."

"A pleasure," said Jack with a nod.

"You're British?" asked Charlie.

Lizzy smirked, knowing that Charlie was thinking of Will. "Funny how things turn out."

"Unfortunately, yes, I am British" said Jack smiling, "but not for long. I'm applying for U.S. citizenship—"

"Hey, look! It's Will!" said Lizzy, pointing out the window. She even waved, even though Will was only standing ten feet away and staring straight at them. She watched his face contorting. "Wow, that's the most emotion I've ever seen him show. You know, that's a lot of expression for _anyone_ in a few seconds. He just went from smile to shock to pissed in like—"

"_Lizzy_," hissed Jane.

"Hmm?" said Lizzy, and Jane frowned and jerked her chin to Charlie. Charlie's chair squeaked against the floor as he scooted back, watching his bandmate. Will turned abruptly, met Lizzy's eyes for a brief instant, and fled.

_He's so weird_, Lizzy thought. _Are all British people lie this?_ She looked up at Wickham to check and guessed so, because Wickham looked as white as the sugar snowflake cookies Caribou was trying to sell in the glass display behind him.

"I better go see what's up," said Charlie slowly, stuffing his arms through his jacket.

"You want me to see if I can't go pick up the car and bring it around?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Charlie said, picking up his drink. "Can you manage the bags by yourself?"

"If not, I've got Lizzy," Jane replied.

Charlie dropped a kiss on the top of Jane's head. "Thanks, sweetie," he said, walking out the door.

Jane sprouted a blush, and Lizzy stared at her twin. "Are you _sure_ you're not dating?" Lizzy asked.

"We're not dating," Jane said firmly.

"Uh-huh."

"We're _not_."

"Okay, whatever. Should we get these bags out to the car?" Lizzy asked, standing and gathering bags.

5.

Will _hated _losing control. He hated it even more when he lost it in public. He hated it the most when he lost it in public in front of someone who knew him well.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Charlie asked, looking over at him.

"Fine, Charlie," Will said evenly. "Now, keep your eyes on the bloody road." He was pissed that he couldn't tell Charlie anything remotely resembling the truth, because Jane was in the backseat. On top of everything else, he was uncomfortable because he and Jane had argued about who would let who ride shotgun. Jane had won, and so Will was stuck in the front seat feeling ungentlemanly.

"So, Jane," said Charlie, glancing in the rearview mirror, "check and see if Lizzy's in earshot."

(Will also didn't understand how Elizabeth Bennet could come up_ again_. Out of nowhere.)

"What?" said Jane startled.

(Of course, it might just have something to do with the fact that his best friend was having a fling with Elizabeth's sister.)

"I was going to ask about her and Collins," said Charlie uncertainly.

"Oh!" cried Jane with a little laugh.

(Will assumed there was a story behind this.) "Who's Collins?" Will asked in an undertone to Charlie.

"You remember Collins," Charlie told Will. "He's the one who came to Netherfield and proposed to Lizzy."

"Anyway, when Charlotte got engaged to Collins—" Jane started.

"Who's Charlotte?"

"Charlotte's their roommate, Will," said Charlie.

"That bugger Collins proposed to her bloody _roommate_?" Will said. "When did that happen?"

"The day we went home," Jane told him.

"You're a little behind, Will," Charlie mock-scolded. "Do try to keep up, old chap."

"Don't mock my accent now," Will snapped, settling back into his seat. "I'm not in the mood."

"Okay, let me get this straight," Charlie said to Jane. "Lizzy doesn't want to marry Collins, and Collins is going to marry someone else."

"Yes…" said Jane slowly.

"Then, I don't understand what Lizzy's problem is," Charlie admitted. "He's not bothering _her_ anymore."

"Well, it's a little more complicated than that, Charlie."

"Is it because I'm a man?"

"What?" Jane asked, and she was laughing.

"I just assume that whenever I don't understand something complicated, it's because I'm a man," explained Charlie.

"Charlie, don't believe everything your sisters tell you," Will said, and Jane was laughing again.

"It's only that you're looking at the situation more from Collin's perspective than Lizzy's," said Jane. "Lizzy feels betrayed; she considered Charlotte one of her good friends."

"But if Lizzy doesn't want Collins, what's the problem?"

"Well…" said Jane, sighing. "Lizzy talked tough and acts untouchable, but she's really very…"

"Fragile?" said Will.

"Will, I think you're the first person who's met my sister and called her fragile," said Jane as harshly as Will had ever heard her speak; even Charlie raised his eyebrows. "She's just as lot more easily hurt than most people would expect. She's incredibly idealistic, and Charlotte's turned out to be not the person Lizzy thought she was."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"Lizzy believes very strongly that…" Jane said slowly. "Well, New York changed her a lot; lots of the stuff she saw there really pissed her off. Lizzy's now an artist, a feminist, and a romantic; she believes it's a man's world but she can succeed in it on her own terms. So, Charlotte's decision shook…not her confidence in herself, but more like her confidence in her ability to succeed. Ugh, I don't think any of this is making sense."

"I don't see what that has to do with Collins," Charlie said.

"Charlotte's marrying Collins for his money," Will explained.

"What? _Will_," Charlie said. "You can't say stuff like that."

"Why else would anyone marry Collins?" Will scoffed.

"No…" said Charlie, glancing in the rearview mirror at Jane.

Jane sighed. "Charlotte denies it now, but Lizzy says that at first, Charlotte told her that she wanted to have the time and means to paint."

"Charlotte's a painter?" Will said, turning around to look at Jane.

Jane nodded. "A pretty good one."

"Does she resent Lizzy?" asked Will.

"Who?" Jane asked.

"Charlotte," Will replied.

"Why would Charlotte resent Lizzy?" Charlie asked.

"Because Lizzy's more talented than she is."

"Will, can you just be a little _less_ of an asshole?" Charlie said irritably.

"_What_?" Will said, looking at Charlie and then back at Jane. "Am I wrong?"

"I haven't thought of that," Jane said slowly, "but you might be right."

Will turned back and smiled at Charlie. "Oh, great," snorted Charlie. "Now you're a _smug_ asshole."

"I'm a smug asshole, who happens to be right," said Will.

"_Might_ be right," Charlie corrected.

Jane shook her head, smiling. "Charlotte's not a bad person; she's just…" Jane shrugged. "…misguided?"

Will glanced at Charlie to gauge his reaction.

"It's okay, Jane," Charlie said, smiling into the rearview mirror at her. "It's just us; you don't have to be the nice one."

Jane flashed him a grateful smile. "She's just lazy," Jane said. "She doesn't want to work at it; I don't think she understands how hard Lizzy worked in New York. Still works—not in New York, but here. She works all summer, you know."

"So she doesn't have to go home?" Will asked.

"_Will_," said Charlie through his teeth.

"Yes," said Jane simply.

The car was silent for a while, except for the run of the engine and the clicks of the turning signal.

"So, Lizzy's pissed, because Charlotte made her feel like she can't achieve?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Jane said. "Take another left turn here, Charlie. Well, that and she's always been skittish about love and marriage anyway."

"Because of your parents?" said Charlie.

"Yeah," said Jane. "Well, that and an asshole named Greg in New York."

Will and Charlie exchanged a look.

"I would've never expected Lizzy to be the type to be wasted and wary," said Charlie.

"_Wasted and wary_?" repeated Will snickering. "Is that a saying even in America? You might as well just say burned and burdened and kill it completely."

"_This,_" Charlie told Jane, "is why we don't write our own lyrics."

"She's not scared exactly," Jane said. "She's just careful not to mess up a second time.—Charlie, you missed the turn."

"Aw, shit," said Charlie, glancing behind him. "I do this _every_ time."

"It's okay," Jane said quietly, as she gathered her bags together.

Charlie signaled, pulled a U-turn, and laughed a little. "I just keep trying to take you back to Netherfield with me."

Jane didn't answer, but when she got out of the car and under the street lamp, Will noticed that she had blushed a brilliant red.

6.

Lizzy was contemplating Jack ("Wickhead") Wickham. (She was supposed to be researching for her second Anthro paper, but it had been three hours since her sister and Charlie left and Lizzy figured she deserved another break.) Jack was good-looking, she supposed. And the accent definitely added a little something. He was too charming for his own good, though. He reminded her of Greg in that way, but that wasn't his fault. Not all charming men took another model to his bed when their girlfriend went to visit her twin sister at college for the weekend.

"Need a refill, love?" asked Jack from behind the counter.

"Uh," said Lizzy, sitting back and closing her book with her finger between the pages to save her place. "What time is it?"

"Nearly nine."

"Decaf," said Lizzy decidedly, screwing her travel mug closed and tossing it to him. He caught it deftly with one hand. "I plan on sleeping tonight."

Jack grinned. "Alone, I hope."

"Dunno. You free tonight?"

"Is that an invitation, Lizzy?" asked Jack.

"Nope," chirped Lizzy smiling. "I was seriously about getting sleep."

"Ah!" Jack moaned, clutching his heart with both hands. "Don't tease me so; I can't take it from you, love."

That was another thing; Jack was a shameless flirt. He'd found a way to put a smile on the face of every female customer in Caribou, usually with really blatant flattery; he preferred blondes, though. Those were the customers he actually exchanged numbers with. Maybe Lizzy could introduce him to Caroline Bingley, but no, Jack was too nice. He didn't deserve to be inflicted with Caroline.

"You'll take a swift kick in the rear if you keep that up, Wickhead," said Lizzy.

"Touché, pet," said Jack, bringing her mug to the table. "Half-and-half and two raw sugars, just like you like it. And this one's on me."

Lizzy was also very aware that Jack flirted the most when he was trying to butter someone up for something; she'd once seen him tease a raise out of his middle-aged female manager.

"Aww, thanks, old chap," said Lizzy, taking her coffee from him. "Don't worry; I'll pay you back in tips later on."

"Counting on it," said Jack. There was a few seconds of silence, and Lizzy waited for the question she knew was coming. "So, Lizzy, how well do you know Will Darcy?"

_There it is,_ Lizzy thought smirking, and she returned her mug to the table. "Well enough to know that he'd be pissed to hear you calling him Darcy."

"Oh," said Jack startled. "I see."

"Relax, Jack," said Lizzy, sipping her coffee. "Mr. Darcy and I don't exactly get along. He tried to ruin a roll of my film once."

"Heaven forbid," Jack replied grinning. "You haven't forgiven him, yet?"

Lizzy snorted. "He hasn't apologized yet."

"Well, don't hold your breath waiting," said Jack, glancing around to make sure there was nobody else around and taking a seat next to her. "Will was never one for apologies."

"How do _you_ know Darcy?" Lizzy asked.

Jack laughed. "I _knew_ you'd ask that."

"Of course," Lizzy replied. "It's too much of a coincidence that the only two British people I know in town also know each other; the UK just got a lot smaller in my estimation."

"Well, the states got smaller in mine," said Jack grimly.

"You're not following him, are you?" Lizzy asked.

"God, no!"

"And he's not following you?" Lizzy said.

"I certainly hope not," said Jack, fiddling with the cover of her Anthropology book. "What's this you're studying? _The Banned and the Burka_? Lizzy, love, what the devil are you reading?"

"Jack, don't change the subject," said Lizzy, and when Jack avoided her gaze, she added, "You can tell me."

"Will and I grew up together," said Jack quietly. "We were playmates, but never really friends. My mother worked for his father."

"And?" prompted Lizzy.

Jack smiled, a little too brightly to soothe Lizzy's curiousity. "And what, pet?"

"Well, obviously you too had a major disagreement," said Lizzy. "I've never seen two English dudes change color so fast in my life."

"An English dude? Is that all I am to you, Lizzy?" said Jack.

"Spill," said Lizzy sternly.

"It's was so long ago; he's probably changed by now," Jack protested, and Lizzy rolled her eyes and waited, watching Jack. "He threw me out."

"Of what?" said Lizzy. "Of Pemberley?"

"You do know your stuff, don't you?" said Jack admiringly. "Yes, Pemberley. A few years ago. I was residing there in the old servant's cottage when I wasn't at school. I was at Oxford, you see; I'd gotten a scholarship and in the late Mr. Darcy's will, the Pemberley estate offered to pay for the rest of my education. Will was in the States, of course; I think he'd just started his career. I was at Pemberley. With Giana."

"_Georg_iana?" asked Lizzy.

Jack nodded, staring into the desk, the corners of his mouth turned down.

"You love her," Lizzy guessed softly.

"Well, no," said Jack quietly. "Not anymore." When Lizzy gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, he swallowed and smiled gratefully, before continuing, "We had a beautiful summer, Giana and I; the whole world was ours. Or Pemberley, which was enough. Or seemed like it."

"And then…" prompted Lizzy.

"Will came home. Found us—well, not _in_ _bed_ exactly, but on the sofa, which was pretty much the same thing," said Jack. "He was _livid_. He threw me out; I wasn't wearing much but he wouldn't let me get my things. Sent them to me later when I went to visit a friend."

"Georgiana didn't tell him?"

"Well, she told him _something_, but it wasn't the truth." Jack shrugged, but the corners of his mouth were twitching down. "She told Will that I was about to um…" Jack took a deep breath, holding onto the edges of the table as if to steady himself. "To rape her; she told him I was going to rape her."

"God, _Jack_," said Lizzy, reaching for his shoulder again.

"I guess fraternal affection won out," said Jack, shrugging again. "She didn't want to disappoint him, I guess." He grinned. "I wasn't the most eligible of bachelors."

"No, I think you're pretty damn eligible," protested Lizzy and hugged him impulsively around the shoulders.

"Thank you, love," said Jack, patting her awkwardly on the elbow. "That's sweet.—And you smell good, too. Better watch yourself, or I might take advantage of you."

"Jack," said Lizzy seriously, settling back into her seat. "I—"

A customer, one with long sleek blonde hair and pink pants, walked in the door. "I'm fine, Lizzy," said Jack, getting up to return to the cash register. "This was a very long time ago."

Later, when Jack was closing up and kicking Lizzy out, Lizzy asked what else had happened.

"Well, I had to drop out of Oxford," said Jack slowly. "It's a rather expensive school, especially for England. Then, I enlisted, traveled with the army for a while, and ended up here."

"You didn't go back to school?" Lizzy asked.

"I couldn't," Jack had told her, sweeping up and not meeting her gaze. Lizzy couldn't help thinking that there could've been a way or a scholarship _somewhere_ if Jack had really wanted to go.


	5. Holiday Fun

1.

The holidays were exhausting. Lizzy forgot this every December—when the twinkling lights came out, when green wreaths and red bows appeared everywhere, and when Lizzy caught herself humming "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" on her way to classes. Then, finals set in: with all its research papers and exams and last-minute stresses, like Christmas shopping. Then, her mom started calling, hinting that she expected to see _both_ her daughters home for the holidays. _Then_, Lizzy had to scramble for a reasonable excuse; luckily though, she managed to get a hold of her father and convinced him to visit through Christmas.

As much as she hated to admit it, Jane had been right: they would've never managed to hold the Eggnog Party at their apartment. Charlotte was in the middle of moving out, and there were boxes stacked tall in their living room like an unwrapped, oversized Christmas. She was really glad that Charlie was in charge of planning it, and she was even gladder that he refused all her offers to help, even when she called the day right before the party. "Lizzy, it hasn't been _that_ long since I left school," Charlie had told her, and Lizzy could hear the bangs and chatter of party prep going on in the background. "I remember what it's like. Besides, Jane's coming over later."

"I see how it is," Lizzy said grinning. She was walking through the mall (back to Caribou); she had to stop next to one of the fountains to let a gaggle of shoppers go by. "You only need _one_ of the Bennet twins."

"Uh-huh," said Charlie. "The one who's finished her exams already—_Shit_! Lizzy, I've got to go. Someone's just beheaded one of my snowmen."

"Okay," said Lizzy. "See you later"

"Yeah, and Lizzy—" he said quickly, "good luck with your Anthro exam; Jane says this one's a real bitch."

Lizzy smiled. "Thanks, Charlie. Bye," said Lizzy and hung up, grabbing her bag. She hoped things worked out between Charlie and Jane; he was just so…nice.

She stepped into Caribou and made her way to her usual table. "Hey, Jack," she said, as she walked by the cash register.

He looked up from the change he was counting out for an elderly man with a cane and did a double take. "Hel_lo_, Lizzy," said Jack with a much more flirty smile than usual.

Lizzy smiled back over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and wondering what he was up to; she then noticed he was staring at her butt. She rolled her eyes. That morning, she'd thrown on a button-down shirt and her best black pants, which were probably a little tighter than the jeans Wickhead was used to seeing her in. She didn't really have a choice, though; she'd been too busy lately to do laundry, and not much else was clean. Lizzy made a mental note to work that into the conversation, so Jack didn't think that she'd dressed up for _him_.

Two hours and a quarter of her Linguistic notes later, Lizzy wasn't aware of much at all, unless if it had to do with the effect of the word _like_ in teenage girl's communication, or cognitive dissonance, or something about double negatives that she didn't really understand and would have to look up again later. Another hour after that, she wasn't aware of anything at all; she was asleep, head on her outstretched arm, coffee still in her hand, and notes spread out in front of her.

The next thing Lizzy noticed was a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. "Lizzy," said Jack softly. "Get up, love."

Lizzy groaned and shook her head. "Five more minutes," she said. "No, ten."

"It's 4:30," said Jack. "When's your exam?"

"Five," mumbled Lizzy, folding her arms for a better pillow. Then, she was awake, eyes opening wide and sitting up abruptly. "Crap, it's at five. I have thirty minutes. Crap."

"Better get a move on then," said Jack.

Lizzy scrambled to her feet, stuffing papers into her bag and tossing her half full coffee into the trash behind Jack. "Fuck, fuck, shit-fuck," she muttered, her breath hissed through her teeth. "I'm late. Oh, fuck."

"You'll be fine," said Jack, grinning. "You've got plenty of time."

"Jack, thank you," Lizzy said seriously, taking hold of his shoulders; she went on tip-toe and kissed him on the corner of the mouth (which was as high up as she could reach). "You're an angel.—Fuck, I have to pee." Then, she zoomed to the small hallway in back of Caribou to the door marked LADIES and threw herself inside.

When she opened the door again, Jack was standing in the doorway, de-aproned and much taller than she remembered. "My shift just ended," he told her.

"Okay…" said Lizzy uncertainly, and then, he was kissing her, pushing her back into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. And Lizzy realized, for the first time, that she was _very_ attracted to Jack Wickham. She reached up and cupped Jack's face in her hands, then ran her fingers through his hair, and noticed Jack's hand on her breast.

Lizzy broke the kiss, saying "Umm…" She looked down; her shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. Jack's hands had been _very_ fast; she guessed he would've unhooked her bra too if she'd worn one with a front clasp.

"Sorry," said Jack, backing away, hands in the air and looking sheepish. "I thought—Sorry, Lizzy."

"No," said Lizzy quickly, taking a step forward. Her edges of her shirt flapped around her waist. "It's just—" _It's way too fast. I don't have sex in public restrooms._ "Really bad timing, Jack." She reached up again and kissed him quickly on the mouth, as she re-buttoned her shirt. "I _really_ have to go."

Jack nodded and smiled. "Come on then," he said, picking up her bag from the floor. "I'll walk you to your car."

It had been years since Lizzy had felt this awkward. When they strolled out of the ladies' restroom hand-in-hand, she felt like every eye in Caribou was on them; Vick, Jack's fellow cashier, winked at them on their way out.

"You're so cute, pet," said Jack chuckling. "You're blushing."

"But they were all _staring_ at us," Lizzy protested.

"Your face was rather red," Jack told her. "I'd have stared, too."

Lizzy didn't know what to say; her heart was beating so fast that she could hear it in her ears. This was _not_ how she wanted to go into her last exam; she hoped her palms wouldn't start sweating.

She looked to the side, pretending to examine the mall's decorations—the three Christmas trees in the middle of the tile floor, each over thirty feet tall and decorated with red, round ornaments, gold ribbon, and glass sculptures that hung like icicles. Under them, there were red- and gold-wrapped presents, and among them, there was a little boy sleeping, curled up and sucking his thumb. "Look, Jack!" Lizzy gasped, pointing. "What a great shot; where's my camera?" She gasped again. "Where's his _mom_?"

"Here," said a tired-looking woman seated in a rocking chair nearby; she had shopping bags strewn around her. "I'm taking a break."

"He's so cute," Lizzy told her.

"Yeah, when he's sleeping," said the woman grimly, "but thanks."

"Lizzy, you're already late," Jack reminded her, tugging on her hand.

"Oh, right—bye!" she called to the woman, as they walked away. "Merry Christmas!"

Lizzy and Jack walked on in silence. They exited the building, and the sudden cold made Lizzy shiver. Jack let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "It's warmer, isn't it?" Jack told her. Lizzy nodded; she knew she was blushing again. "So, you're a photographer."

"Yeah," said Lizzy quickly, wondering how Jack didn't know this about her. Then again, she always came to Caribou with schoolwork; it was much easier to work on photographs from her darkroom. "For a really long time. For years. It's the only thing I've ever _really_ wanted to do. Besides leave home." Lizzy couldn't remember why she parked so far away; she was way at the end of the parking garage.

"I'd like to see them sometime," Jack said. "Your photos."

"Okay," said Lizzy. "Sure."

"When did you start then? I assume it was after you left home."

"A couple months before I quit modeling."

"_You_ were a model?"

Lizzy mock-scowled. "Don't act so surprised, Jack; I'll get insulted."

Jack grinned. "It's only that I can't believe I missed the career of such a beauty."

Lizzy snorted, rolling her eyes at Jack's flattery. "Well, it was only a couple years, and I was too short to ever make it big. That's where I got interested in photography; the nice ones—photographers, I mean—would explain all the equipment between stills."

"Did one of them just give you a camera?"

"No, I bought my own camera," said Lizzy. "Actually, when I took my first real photograph, instead of—you know, touristy shots--I'd just finished a shoot with a real asshole. He was a perv; he kept feeling up the other girls." Lizzy knew she was babbling, she knew that Jack probably didn't want to know all this, but she couldn't help herself. "He didn't mess with me; I think I had a reputation for giving back what I got. Anyway, his next shoot was all set up; it was a new band, all dressed and ready to pose for the cover of some magazine. But the asshole-photographer was on the other side of the studio chewing out an intern. I saw a great shot, so I took it. I took a few actually, but then, one of the band members noticed me and asked me what I was doing. I left; I think I winked at him, though. I think he knew how much trouble I'd get in if I was caught."

Jack grinned. "Sounds like something I'd do."

"What?" laughed Lizzy. "Candid photos?"

"No, winking and running."

Lizzy pointed to the old blue Volvo a few feet away; she hoped Jack didn't see the basket of dirty clothes in the backseat. The laundry mat was supposed to be the stop right after her exam. "This is mine."

Then, Jack kissed her again, thankfully keeping his hands—well, not to himself exactly but still in G-rated areas; she kissed him back, a little more quickly than before, and hoped that he wouldn't notice how rusty she was. It had been a long time since Greg.

He let her draw away but still kept his hands clasped around her waist; he was smiling and Lizzy took that as a good sign. "Better go."

"Better," agreed Lizzy and kissed him again. Then, he did let her go, and she did unlock her car and even took a seat behind the steering wheel. Before she closed the door, Jack gave her a quick peck on the nose. "The party," Lizzy blurted.

"What?"

"At Netherfield, the party," said Lizzy, nervous again. "Are you going? Everyone's invited, the whole town. But I guess Dar'll be there, so you probably don't want—"

"It'll take more than Will Darcy to scare me away, Lizzy." Jack smiled. "I'll be there."

"Good," said Lizzy, and she smiled. "Great, I'll see you there. Bye, Jack."

Jack nodded and closed the door for her; Lizzy watched him walk away. She sighed hugely and banged her head on the steering wheel.

_I've got to talk to Jane_, she thought, turning the ignition. Then, she noticed the time. _Shit, I've got to go_.

2.

Lizzy didn't get a chance to talk to Jane before Charlie's party; they were both too busy. Jane spent the entire day helping Charlie at Netherfield; Lizzy was busy cleaning up the apartment so that her father had a place to sleep. At least Charlotte had almost all of her belongings in the U-Haul; the living room was almost clear.

"Lizzy, have you seen my shoes?" Charlotte said, walking out of her room and stumbling.

"Yeah, you just tripped over them," Lizzy said, opening the pantry and knocking a whole dustpan full of dirt into the trashcan.

"_Thanks_," Charlotte huffed. Then she straightened, giving Lizzy the once over. "Lizzy, you look nice. Really nice."

Shrugging, Lizzy put the broom and dustpan away and tried not to look guilty. She'd told herself several times that she wasn't dressing up for Jack; she only went through the effort for the party and for all the work that Jane and Charlie had put in.

"I've never seen that dress," said Charlotte suspiciously. Lizzy felt suddenly self-conscious in her dark red chiffon dress, with a wraparound top that fit her really, _really_ well and a skirt that flared past her knees. "Did you buy it?"

"A couple of months ago," said Lizzy defensively, and this was true. "It was on sale," she added, and this wasn't really true.

"And lipstick to match?" Charlotte commented dryly. "And _eyeliner_! Lizzy, what's going on?"

"What?" said Lizzy. "Am I not allowed to own eyeliner?"

"You can own it; you just can't _use_ it," Charlotte told her. "Who is he?"

"Who?" said Lizzy carefully, but she knew she was blushing.

"Who is he?" Charlotte cried, smelling a secret. "Who-who-who? Come on, Lizzy; you _have_ to tell me. I'm a soon-to-be married woman; I'm starved for romance."

"And whose fault is that?" Lizzy snapped. When Charlotte's face fell, Lizzy had to remind herself to not feel guilty.

The doorbell rang, and Lizzy went to answer it. As her heels clicked around the floor, Charlotte said, "Black, pointy, _strappy_ shoes; there's definitely a guy."

Lizzy ignored her and opened the door, where a stout, bearded man with thinning red hair stood with his luggage. "Zippy!" he said and hugged her.

"Hey, Dad," Lizzy said grinning. "Don't crush the dress; I don't have time to iron it."

"You look _lovely_," he declared, without letting her go. Then, he backed up and had a look at her. After an inspection, he nodded, "Yep, just as I thought: you look lovely. I didn't know your hair was curly."

"Only with a lot of work," Charlotte said pointedly.

Lizzy put a hand to her curls, pulled back and pinned on top of her head. "I just put stuff in it," she said, frowning at Charlotte.

"Who's the guy?" asked her father sternly.

"Dad!" Lizzy groaned, ignoring Charlotte's smirk. "Dad, this is Charlotte Lucas, our roommate—for the next few days, at least; Charlotte, this is my father."

"Call me Ben," he said, taking Charlotte's hand and kissing it.

"Your parents named you Ben?" Charlotte asked horrified. "Ben Bennet?"

"No, they named me Francis, which is worse; I just ask people to call me Ben instead."

Lizzy mock-applauded. "Well done, Dad."

"I'm too old to change my name, Miss Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet," he told her. To Charlotte, he added, "I'd like to extend my congratulations. On your wedding."

Charlotte stared at Ben for a really long moment, her mouth falling slowly open; then she broke eye contact. "Thank you," she said and sniffed, bringing her hand to her face and wiping something away.

"Charlotte—" Lizzy said, taking a step forward, but Charlotte was moving towards the door.

"I have to go," Charlotte said quickly. "Collins—my fiancé," she explained to Bill, "he's waiting downstairs." She opened the door; a car honked. "That's him. Lizzy, do me a favor, and tell Jane that I put her Christmas present in her purse. Bye; see you two there."

"Bye, Charlotte—" Lizzy called, but the door slammed before Charlotte could reply.

"What'd you do to her?" Ben asked sternly.

"Nothing."

"I tell her congrats, and she bursts into tears," Ben said. "You had to have done _something_."

"I lost my temper," Lizzy admitted.

"Surprise there."

"Hey, you," Lizzy snapped, fighting a grin. "I don't have to take this from you; this is my apartment. Go get dressed."

"Dressed?" asked Ben with wide innocent eyes. "We going somewhere, Zippy? You should've told me; I don't think I brought anything to wear."

"Bullshit," said Lizzy grinning. "If you didn't, what's in that garment bag out there? I bet it's even Armani."

"Aww," said Ben, patting Lizzy lightly on the head. "You know your old man so well."

3.

Netherfield, and especially its ballroom, was packed. And beautiful. The walls were hung with green and silver cloth; ribbons and garlands dripped from the chandeliers. Christmas trees stood in groups of threes in the corners, sparkling with strung lights; silver stars shone at their tops. Instead of ice sculptures, Charlie's snowmen stood guard over the punch and eggnog.

"You guys did a great job," Lizzy told Jane and Charlie.

"We did, didn't we?" said Caroline, smoothing her black dress, which was probably Versace again if Lizzy guessed correctly. Ben and Lizzy Bennet exchanged a look, both knowing exactly who had done all the work; Caroline probably plugged in the power cord to the Christmas lights and called it helping.

"It was a lot easier than I thought I'd be," said Jane.

Charlie laughed. "It's a hell of a lot easier when you can just hand the job to someone else."

"Ouch," said Lizzy. "Who's your party planner?"

"Sandy. That woman rallying the DJ team," said Charlie pointing. Lizzy looked; Sandy was also the only woman in the room with a business suit.

"She's very nice," Jane said.

"It all looks great, sweetie," Ben told Jane.

Jane looked up slowly, regarding him carefully through her eyelashes. "Thanks, Dad." Lizzy watched them smiling at each other.

"Miss Eliza Bennet," said a voice behind them.

"Oh, fuck," muttered Lizzy.

"Mr. Collins! Charlotte!" cried Charlie, reaching out to shake Collins' hand cordially. "Good to see you again."

"Yes, Yes," agreed Mr. Collins. His suit was blue, shirt black and his tie red. His arm was around Charlotte who looked distracted and pained and very pretty in dark blue dress. Collins was very fond of public displays of affection; he seemed to think it would bother Lizzy. It bothered her more that Charlotte seemed uncomfortable. "Thank you for inviting us; lovely home you have, Mr. Bingley. I've told you this before, but you must never tire of hearing it. Lovely home, lovely party. Christmas trees, decorated--$50 each. Snowmen sculptures--$160 each. Wall hangings--$1000 each. Ribbons—"

"Don't remind me, Mr. Collins," Charlie said, wincing with a half grin.

"And I think Sandy might have found some better deals than the prices you just named," Jane said gently.

"Miss Eliza Bennet," Mr. Collins said.

"Yes, Mr. Collins," Lizzy said evenly.

"I wondered if you might do me the honor of agreeing to partner me in a dance," said Mr. Collins with a slight bow.

Caroline looked delighted. "What a wonderful idea! It's the perfect opportunity for the two of you to patch things up."

Lizzy blanched. She didn't want to dance with Mr. Collins; or rather, she didn't mind dancing with Mr. Collins so much as the possibility of Jack _seeing_ her dance with Mr. Collins.

"We could let bygones be bygones," Collins continued. "Put all the water under the bridge. Just a friendly dance among old friends. Just—"

_Great_, thought Lizzy. _If I say no now, I'll be interfering with bygones_. Lizzy scanned the room and didn't see Jack. It was early; Jack probably hadn't even arrived yet. "Sure," said Lizzy, "if it's okay with Charlotte."

"Hmm?" said Charlotte sharply, as if she were just starting to pay attention again. "What?"

"You okay with me and your fiancé dancing?" asked Lizzy.

"Of course she is," said Mr. Collins. "A dance between friends is nothing more than—"

Charlotte smiled warmly and clasped Mr. Collins' hands. "You most certainly may not; honey, what are you thinking? Asking another girl to dance before you've even danced with your _fiancée_. Come on," she said, dragging Collins coyly but firmly to the dance floor.

"Well," said Ben, scratching at his beard. "That was a rescue if I ever saw one."

They watched the soon-to-be bride and groom start their first dance together. Collins lead his fiancée through a set of intricate, twitching steps that Lizzy didn't recognize, and Charlotte was doing her best to follow him.

"Is that the foxtrot?" asked Ben.

"It's Collins' version," Lizzy replied.

"Well, sweetie," Ben said to Jane, extending his hand to Jane. "Will you honor your old man with a dance?"

Jane smiled and took his hand. "Sure, Dad."

"Lizzy, me and you?" Charlie asked, arms open. "What do you say?"

"Charlie, are you just going to _leave_ me?" asked Caroline, hands on her hips and emerald studs twinkling in her ears.

Lizzy ignored her. "Absolutely," she told Charlie, walking with him toward the rest of the dancers. After all, she'd take him while she could get him; she figured he was going to be unavailable as soon as Jane was free. Besides, it wouldn't hurt Jack any to see her already with a partner.

4.

The room filled up fast. Soon there were so many people on the dance floor that Lizzy felt like she had no space to breathe, but after a couple cups of eggnog, she didn't mind the crush so much. After dancing with three of her classmates, she took a break for something cold to drink and the chance that she might be able to spot Jack better from the refreshment tables.

With a cup of punch in her hand, standing next to the tallest snowman sculpture, Lizzy still couldn't find Jack; she decided to just remain conspicuously alone and wait for him to find _her_. She smiled when she noticed Jane and Charlie dancing in the corner next to the speaker, their arms around each other. There was a little space between them and the rest of the crowd; Charlie's celebrity had its benefits, or maybe the crowd was just respecting the host and his space.

Lizzy felt a presence behind her and looked up to see her father frowning down at her. "I love dancing," she told him, tilting her head and stretching her arms toward the dance floor.

"I think you need to lay off the eggnog, Zippy," said Ben still frowning.

"I _know_," Lizzy said grinning. "That's why I went for the punch." Then, she noticed the camera slung over his shoulder. "Ooo, gimme!" she said, reaching for it.

Ben pulled it off his shoulder and handed it to her. "Careful," he told her.

"Don't worry," Lizzy said, bringing the lens to her eye and waiting until Charlie spun Jane and her skirt flared out around her. Click. "I'm a pro at this," she told her father. "Well, not really—not yet anyway, but you get the idea."

Ben leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You know, I like him."

"Me, _too_," said Lizzy, zooming in for a shot of Charlie's face leaning over the curve of Jane's neck, his eyes closed, his nose in her hair. Click. "Jane couldn't have found a nicer guy."

"He can't take his eyes off of her," Ben commented.

"_Duh_, Dad," Lizzy said, glancing at him. "Look at how gorgeous she is." Jane's dress was silver blue, something clinging and floaty and backless and beady that Lizzy could've never pulled off. "She looks like a 40's movie star."

"20's, Zippy; you're getting your decades mixed up," said Ben. "And don't call me Dad; you'll blow my cover."

Lizzy snorted and snapped a shot of Charlie spinning Jane out; it was amazing how easily love could make ordinary dancers seem like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. "Yeah, I saw you flirting with Jane's anatomy professor; if you pick a woman up, go back to _her_ place. There's a limit to the weird points me and Jane can handle, and our dad on our couch with last night's date is going way, way over."

"Speaking of which, Zippy, you're hogging the prop for my best pick-up lines," Ben said.

"Tough shit," said Lizzy, wondering if she could get closer.

"Don't you want to dance? You _love_ dancing," Ben reminded her, imitating her with his arms stretched wide and his head tilted. Lizzy shot one of Charlie dipping Jane.

"No," said Lizzy. "I'm waiting for someone."

"He's not coming."

"He's not?" Lizzy said, looking up. "Who's not coming?"

"Jack, right?" Ben asked. "He called."

"He called? Why'd he call you?" asked Lizzy scowling.

"He called_ you_," Ben said. "You made me carry your cell phone, remember?"

Lizzy took some quick, careful shots of Jane and Charlie. "No, but it sounds like something I'd do. This dress doesn't have any pockets, and last time I tried to carry it in my cleavage, it fell out when I did a shimmy."

"Ugh, _Zippy_—I didn't need to hear that."

"Sorry, Dad. Did I…did I give Jack my cell phone number?" Lizzy asked frowning.

"I don't know."

"Did he give a reason? For not coming?"

"Uh…" said Ben thinking. "No."

"I bet it was stupid Dar," Lizzy muttered darkly, snapping a half dozen shots in quick succession. "Jack was all like, 'It'll take more than Will Darc—Darlington to keep me away.' Stupid. So full of shit."

"Lizzy, he had a girl with him," Ben said carefully, and Lizzy looked at him sharply, trying to tell if he was lying. "A very giggly one."

"Oh," said Lizzy sobering. She lifted the lens to her eyes and caught a frame with Charlie's hand on Jane's bare back. "Oh." It wasn't like it was a big deal; they weren't exclusive. Jack wasn't hers; it wasn't like she wanted him to be or anything.

"Zippy…" said her father with concern, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Elizabeth Bennet," said another voice behind her, and she and Ben turned. It was Will; Lizzy hadn't recognized his voice because he'd switched back to an American accent.

"Mr. Dar…" Lizzy said, stretching out the first syllable until the panic sprouted in his eyes, "…lington!" she finished grinning. "How ya doin'? This is my dad, Francis Bennet; Dad, this is Fitzwilliam Henry _Darlington_. Mr. Darlington works with Mr. Bingley."

They shook hands. "Ben," said Lizzy's father; Will nodded gravely.

"I've come to ask you if you'd join me for a dance," Will said.

"Uh…" said Lizzy. "Pictures, I'm taking them—" To prove it, she backed up and took an idle shot of Will's long limbs encased in a well-fitting, expensive-looking suit. His dress shirt was blue; his tie was bluer. Lizzy remembered suddenly that he hated pictures.

"No, you don't," said Ben, lifting the camera out of Lizzy's hands.

"Hey!" cried Lizzy, and Will couldn't help smirking, remembering Lizzy's face when she'd thought he'd ruined her film.

"It's _my_ camera," Ben reminded her. "You can't hide behind a lens all your life, Lizzy."

Lizzy sulked, and the song changed to a slow ballad of a dysfunctional relationship; she looked up at Will. "Well, Mr. Darlington; I guess that's our cue."

5.

They were waltzing; it'd been years since Lizzy had waltzed, not since teen cotillion and its many itchy dresses forced on her by her mother. This waltz wasn't a whole lot more comfortable; her skin tingled, kind of, or burned almost where her partner held her. She hadn't realized she hated him this much. She decided it must have been what Jack had told her; it had just pushed her right over the edge.

"Okay, we should probably say _something_," Lizzy said after a whole minute of silence. "Here, I'll say something about how big the room is, and you can something about how many people it fits."

"Do you normally script your conversations while dancing?" said her partner softly, just about her ear. He'd switched back to his natural British accent, and it annoyed Lizzy, who thought he should just pick one and stick to it for a whole evening.

"Only when I'm slightly tipsy, and I'm dancing with someone socially awkward," Lizzy replied.

"I'm not socially awkward," Will said, insulted.

"Well, I'm definitely tipsy," admitted Lizzy. "It was the eggnog. No, it was my alcohol tolerance. It _sucks_ nowadays; when I was in New York, I could let three employers buy me drinks in an hour and I'd still be able to manage myself. Now, all it takes is two, and I end up pretty stupid things."

Will didn't trust himself to answer.

Lizzy giggled. "And I ramble."

After another moment, Will asked quietly, "Are you often at the Caribou?"

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "Why don't you just ask me about Jack and be done with it?"

Will was silent.

"Mr. Darcy, I won't tell you if you won't ask," Lizzy told him in a sing-song.

Will did not reply.

"I guess I should tell you that I study at that Caribou a lot," Lizzy mused. "You did ask that."

Will was stubbornly silent.

Lizzy mock-gasped. "Could Mr. Darcy be too proud to ask? But what reason could _justify_ such a response—"

"Do not deliberately misunderstand me," snapped Will.

"But it's so easy to misunderstand you, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy chirped and yawned.

"Forgive me; am I boring you?" Will asked sharply.

"Well, you're not much of a talker."

"I'm doing my best," said Will harshly.

"Uh-huh, you're getting better; I've gotten a few rises out of you anyway," Lizzy commented, glancing toward a group of girls in very short skirts and matching 'We Love B.F.D.' tops. "You know, the party's great, but I think some people are disappointed. I think they were expecting a private B.F.D. concert for the little town of Vickroot. Obviously they didn't read the invitations. Or the flyers."

"I believe Charlie considered the option, but we haven't yet recovered from the tour," Will said conversationally. "I also believe Charlie expressed a wish to dance."

"Yeah, he's a good dancer. Or Jane is. One of them. They both look good," Lizzy said, skimming the room over Will's shoulder for Charlie and her sister. She spotted them near the same corner that they were at before, also waltzing but holding each other much closer than Lizzy had ever held a partner, especially her current one. Jane's head was on Charlie's shoulder, and his arm around her waist kept pulling her tighter. Lizzy wished she had her camera. "There they are," Lizzy sang smiling. "They look so happy."

"Hmmm?" said Will, turning both of them so he could look. When he saw them, he blurted, "My God! He loves—" He stopped himself and looked down at Lizzy, eyes wide and mouth open.

"He what?" Lizzy said, a slow smile creeping across her mouth.

Will closed his mouth and straightened up. "He loves _dancing_," Will said firmly.

"Uh-huh," said Lizzy smirking. "Well, I'm pretty sure that Jane loves _dancing_ too, so I'm sure that they'll be very happy together."

Lizzy beamed for a whole minute, sneaking glances at Jane around her partner, until Will released her, saying "I must go."

"What?" said Lizzy, as he started to walk away. "Did I step on your foot?"

Will turned, returned to the space in front of her, and actually _bowed_; Lizzy gaped. "No, forgive me; I must—" he said softly. Then, louder, with an American accent that startled Lizzy even more than the bow, he added, "I'm sorry; I have to go."

Lizzy watched him walk away, still gaping; then she closed her mouth, sighed, and decided she could use a little more eggnog.

6.

The next morning, Lizzy woke up in a dark mood, because everything was too bright, her head hurt, and standing up too fast made her feel nauseous. She couldn't remember how she got home last night, but she had vague memories of a car and feeling very, very uncomfortable. She took a shower, dressed, and stumbled out of her room, tripping over a three-piece suit that looked way too small to be her father's. Then, she remembered and grimaced: Mr. Collins had driven her home; at every stoplight, he'd taken the opportunity to make out with Charlotte. No wonder she'd felt uncomfortable.

If Lizzy had been feeling better, she would've left and run errands or something rather than stay and risk the sight of Collins in his underwear or worse, but this was her apartment, damn it. He couldn't force her out of her own home.

She grabbed the newspaper from outside the door and went to go brew herself some coffee.

Somebody knocked twice softly on the door, and Lizzy noticed the empty couch and guessed it was her father. "It's open," she called, feeling too lazy to walk all the way across the room.

The door opened, and there was Ben Bennet making a face. "_It's open?_ Come on, Lizzy; burglars and rapists work on Sundays, too. Do you always keep your door unlocked?"

"Only when I get the paper with a hangover," Lizzy said.

Ben closed the door and locked it. "You, too?"

"Unfortunately," said Lizzy; she pointed at his beard. "You know you should shave."

"I should _shower_," Ben corrected.

"Without that beard, you'd look five years younger," said Lizzy. "You'd get more dates."

"With a shower, I'd feel five times better," said Ben, going to his luggage and pulling out a toiletry bag. "And do you really think I need help with my love life?"

Lizzy didn't think she should comment on that. "Second door on your right's the bathroom; towels are under the sink."

"Thanks, Zippy," said Ben, stopping to kiss her on the forehead on his way to the bathroom.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Lizzy advised, making a face. "Your breath reeks."

"Brat," Ben called back.

When he left the shower, beard intact but dressed in jeans and flannel, Lizzy was making pancakes. "Want any?" she asked him.

"Sure," said Ben, sitting down at the table with a large black folder.

"Hey—that's my portfolio!" Lizzy protested, pointing her spatula at him.

"I know," said Ben, opening the folder. On the top of the stack, there was a portrait of Jane, turned halfway away but looking back at Lizzy and into the lens with a tolerant smile. "You wanted me to see it anyway; you'd have shown it to me already if you could've figured out a way to bring it up."

"Get syrup on any of those prints, and you're going to be in big trouble," Lizzy warned.

"Relax," said Ben. "It's not like I've never handled prints before."

Lizzy snorted and dropped a plate of pancakes on the table. "Not _mine_, Dad, and you need to ask next time."

"Have you taken an aspirin yet?" Ben asked, flipping the page to look at the next photograph.

"No."

"Might want to. You're cranky."

Lizzy slammed the spatula down so hard it clanged. "_Dad_," she said glaring. "Don't just laugh it off."

"All right, Lizzy," said Ben, looking up and opening his reading glasses. She calmed herself down; he only called her 'Lizzy' when he was really serious. "I won't touch your stuff without your permission again."

Lizzy hated that he knew what she was really mad about; he hadn't spent enough time with her to know her so well. "Thanks," she sighed and turned off the coffeepot. "Coffee's ready."

"You shouldn't drink coffee; it's bad for you," Ben said, peering at the photos. "Maybe Jane'll take some; you probably woke her up with your Spatula of Fury."

"Jane's not here," Lizzy told him, "but I did wake her up. Called her cell phone."

"Jane's not _here_?"

Lizzy snorted. "Relax, Dad. She just crashed at Netherfield, and before you ask, no—this doesn't happen a lot." Lizzy smirked. "She's probably just following her old man's example."

"You are way too smart for your own good," said Ben, chewing a mouthful of pancakes and pointing at her with her fork; Lizzy laughed, delighted. "Now that laugh of yours definitely woke someone up."

"Charlotte and Collins," said Lizzy coldly. "It's two already; I think they'll live. Besides they're getting married tomorrow. They're bound to have stuff to do."

Ben flipped to another photo. "Some of these are really good, Zippy."

Lizzy beamed. "Thanks, Dad."

"Some of them aren't," Ben said, pulling one of the pile and squinting at it. "What the hell is this?"

"I loved that shot!" Lizzy said indignantly. "It was a pier on this lake up Highway 62, and it was falling apart, and the thunderstorm—"

"I don't care," Ben interrupted. "That one needs to go back to the darkroom; it's overexposed. You can't make anything out."

"I already spent a week with it," Lizzy said.

Ben tossed down the photo down on the table. "Then you're going to have to learn that sometimes great shots don't make for great photos. The ones that are supposed to turn out will turn out; the ones that aren't won't."

Lizzy glowered and snatched it from his hand. "I _like_ it."

"Keep it then; just don't put it in your portfolio," Ben told her. "No one else wants to see it."

Lizzy was about to snap something back, when the door to Charlotte's room opened and Charlotte walked out, black smudges around her eyes and hair in weird tufts around her head.

"Whoa, Charlotte—did you fall asleep with your eye makeup on?" Lizzy said grinning. "Cause you're pulling a Bride of Frankenstein right now?"

Charlotte pulled her Spongebob Squarepants robe closed around her and tied it with dignity. "Coffee," she grunted.

"In the pot," Lizzy said, pulling out a mug (also Spongebob, Charlotte's favorite) and handing it over. "It's fresh."

"Mmm," Charlotte groaned and staggered toward it.

"Are you okay?" Lizzy asked.

"Coffee," Charlotte grunted reproachfully and poured herself a cup.

Ben covered his face, but Lizzy could see him smiling under his hands. Lizzy grinned, took a couple Advil out of its bottle, and filled a glass of water. "Here, babe," Lizzy told Charlotte, holding out the glass and the pills. "You need it more than I do."

Charlotte looked at the gifts and then at Lizzy, and then she hugged her around the neck. _"Love_," Charlotte said firmly.

"Well, this is touching," said Ben dryly from the table.

"Way to ruin the Kodak moment," said Lizzy grinning as Charlotte downed the pills.

"Kodak? You're still using the Kodak film?" asked Lizzy's father alarmed.

"It's just a figure of speech, Dad," Lizzy said, watching Charlotte take another mug out of the cupboard and pour another cup of coffee. "You know, Charlotte—you're not going to drink it any faster even with two mugs."

Charlotte looked up, pressing her lips together. "One's for Collins," she said softly.

"Oh," said Lizzy, the smile falling off her face; she'd forgotten about Collins, just for a few minutes. It'd been so nice to go back to the way things were. Charlotte watched the resolve Lizzy's scowl into stone, sighed, and returned her room.

Lizzy started the dishes.

Ben examined another photo—this one of Charlotte sleeping (or passed out, rather) on the couch. Her head was huge in the foreground; her face was clean of makeup because she'd been crying before she passed out and Lizzy'd made her wash her face. The disheveled dress she was wearing, the hickies on her collarbone, and the stains on her skirt—all evidence of the one night stand Charlotte had inflicted on herself in her search for love—were barely noticeable next to the innocent luminance of Charlotte's face in sleep. Lizzy had named the photo "What Really Matters."

"You know, Lizzy," Ben said, "whenever I want to know who's really important in my life, I look in my darkroom and see who I've hung up to dry."

Lizzy whirled around scowling and was so angry for a moment that she couldn't speak. Finally she said, "I'm sure it was_ real_ crowded in there with all those pictures of me and Jane drying on the walls."

Ben Bennet stared at Lizzy over the tops of his glasses and took a slow, even breath. "Ouch, Lizzy."

"Yeah, well—I don't appreciate you coming in here and trying to use my portfolio to teach me life lessons," Lizzy snapped. "If you've got something to say to me, say it straight out."

"Fine," he said. "How's this: don't you think you've punished Charlotte enough?"

"Don't have to," said Lizzy, turning back to the sink and scrubbing at the pan furiously. "She's doing a good enough job of it by herself."

"I know you're trying to get her to realize her mistake and quit by withdrawing all your support," said Ben, "but do you really think she's going to back out at this point?"

"No," muttered Lizzy.

"Well then, what good are you doing? Don't you think she's going to have enough to handle over the next couple days without adding your attitude to it?"

"Don't you—" Lizzy started, but the door flew open and Jane walked in with the jangle of keys and the ringing announcement, "I'm _home_."

Lizzy softened. "Hey, Jane."

"Hey," said Jane, entering the kitchen and beaming; she threw her keys on the counter and leaned against it, picking a thread off of her dress and brushing at the beads. "How's it going? Ooo, do we have coffee?" She crossed the room and picked up the pot, sniffing. "It smells so good."

"Uh, Jane—you seem to be in the wrong place," Lizzy said. "This is our kitchen, not Cloud Nine."

Jane threw her arms out wide, grinning. "Cloud nine hundred million trillion."

"Uh-huh…" Lizzy said slowly. "You wanna tell me about it?"

Jane hugged herself, still beaming but shaking her head no.

"You sure?" Lizzy asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I'm sure," Jane said and bent to kiss Ben on the head. "Morning, Dad." She walked across the room and hugged Lizzy, whispering in her ear, "I'll tell you later" with a significant glance at their father.

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "_Fine_."

Jane kissed her twin's cheek. "I love you," she told Lizzy before walking into her room.

"I don't like him anymore," Ben said darkly, scowling at Jane's closed door. "In fact, I might kill him."

Lizzy smirked, leaning against the counter as she dried the frying pan. "Relax; Jane didn't sleep with him."

"How do you know?" Ben asked.

"Because that's not how Jane acts when she's been with a guy."

Ben winced and returned to Lizzy's portfolio. "I didn't need to hear that."

Lizzy grinned impishly. "I know."

7.

For all the work that went into it, for all the catalogs on the floor and all the sample flower arrangements on the counter, and all the bridesmaid's dresses she made the Bennet twins try on, for all the stress that Charlotte and the people around her had been through, the wedding hadn't turned out well at all. There was too much melancholy in everyone's mood; none of the guests were smiling, except Jane who was trying too hard to make up for everyone else. Or maybe Lizzy imagining things. Or maybe it would get better. After all, the ceremony hadn't even started yet.

Lizzy snapped a shot of the nearest flower arrangement, all roses in various shades of pink. Charlotte slipped out of the side room, tugging her dress into place; it was old-fashioned, a little too old-fashioned to suit Charlotte, with its high collar and tight, long sleeves. Lizzy guessed that Collins had picked it out. As Charlotte bent carefully and adjusted her shoe buckle, Lizzy examined her critically. Maybe her eyes were too wide set to let Charlotte be…well, as stunning as Jane, or maybe her lips were a little too thin, or her chin too pointed. But Lizzy couldn't understand how Charlotte could tell people that she wasn't pretty. Lizzy told herself she wasn't going to cry; she lifted her camera and framed another shot—of Charlotte bent, skirted lifted and shoe outstretched, her veil and dress flowing down the curve of her back. Click. She'd call it "Walking the Plank—in Style."

Charlotte looked up, startled. "What are you doing?"

"Taking pictures," said Lizzy, "like always. Back up; I want to get a full-length shot before you get in there and start sweating under the pressure." She stepped back and snapped a shot, and then she saw the relief on Charlotte's face. "Come on, Charlotte; you have to _smile_. You're ruining the picture." The bride stepped forward and hugged Lizzy tightly around the shoulders. "Whoa…uh, _whoa_; Charlotte, you're going to crush my dress." Lizzy gasped and pushed Charlotte quickly away. "You're going to ruin _your_ dress; it'll show up in all your pictures!"

"I—" Charlotte started and sniffed, wiping her eyes. "_Shit_, I'm going to ruin my makeup. I told them not to hire a photographer, because I wanted you to…I hoped. I mean, it _is_ my wedding day, after all."

"You can still leave," Lizzy said, taking Charlotte by the shoulders, and she hated the desperation in her voice. "It's not too late; you can go still, Charlotte. I'll _tell_ them—"

Jane slipped in through the door to the main area of the church; Lizzy couldn't help but notice again how bubble gum pink wasn't a good look for her. "Hey—we're ready," Jane said and smiled. "You know, when you are."

Charlotte steeled herself, shook her shoulders back, and settled her bouquet into place. "It's okay, Lizzy," she said, shrewdly staring down the aisle to where Collins was standing, eye-popping in an eggplant-colored tux. "There's always divorce."

Lizzy survived the ceremony by reducing it to a series of shots:

The bride (Charlotte) gliding down the aisle with a smile plastered on her face; part of her veil snagged on her diamond earrings (engagement presents from the groom—to match the ring).

Gently smiling, the maid of honor (Jane) taking Charlotte's bouquet in one hand and prying Charlotte's veil loose from her earring with the other.

The clasped hands of the bride and groom: Collins' gloved (in white), Charlotte's bare.

A classic shot—the bride and groom's back and the bishop with his arms raised. It was a Catholic ceremony (Caroline converted; she had been baptized in November.), and the light was coming from directly behind the altar; the bishop's hat cast a shadow on the couple.

A snap of Mr. and Mrs. Lucas. Charlotte's father, already too drunk to even give his daughter away; Charlotte's mother, steely-eyed but crying.

In the background, blurry silhouettes of the bride and groom; in the foreground, Jane, both bouquets hanging limply out of her hand, doing her best to look happy.

A profile shot of the couple. Collins is wiping his brow with a light-blue handkerchief; Charlotte is still smiling.

The exchange of the rings: Collins sliding the wedding band onto Charlotte's finger; he's already wearing his own over his glove.

Kissing the bride. Eyes closed; hands clasped. (Lizzy didn't want to dwell on it.)

Walking down the aisle. Arms linked. Collins waving like Julie Andrews in _The Princess Diaries_. Charlotte with a reclaimed bouquet, chin lowered, eyes fierce, ready to charge.

At the reception, Ben found Lizzy snapping shots of the wedding cake way over on the other side of the room from the dance floor and the other guests. "You did really well out there," he told her.

Lizzy sighed, slow and even. "Thanks, Dad."

"Lizzy, you can put the camera down," Ben said. "I can see you crying."

Lizzy let the camera fall back on her shoulder, wiping away her tears with the palms of her hands. "I'm just frustrated," Lizzy said sourly. "It's just so..." Lizzy gulped, pressing her lips together.

"Come here, sweetie," he sighed, pulling her into a hug.

"It's so _stupid_," Lizzy said angrily. "She's not going to be happy. She thinks she'll have time to paint and she'll be happy, but she won't. I'm just so scared that it's going to kill something in her and she'll never be the same."

"I know, Lizzy," said Ben softly, "but you have to let her make her own mistakes. She's a grown girl."

"I wish life had an Undo button," Lizzy muttered into her father's shirt. "You know, like on computers."

"What would you do?" Ben asked. "Tie Charlotte up until she came to her senses?"

"Of course not," Lizzy said. "I'd just chase Collins away before he got to Charlotte." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Where's Jane?"

"Over there," said Ben pointing. "Sampling appetizers."

"Probably trying to deter her many admirers," Lizzy said. "She's too pretty for her own good."

"Pink's not her color, though."

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, Charlotte picked one of the few colors that a redhead can't pull off. Unless you're Molly Ringwald in _Pretty in Pink_. I don't know what Charlotte was thinking."

"I bet she was thinking that the bridesmaid shouldn't to out-do the bride," Ben said.

"No…" said Lizzy, mouth open and half-turning to see how serious he was.

"Yep," said Ben firmly; then he grinned down at Lizzy. "She didn't manage, though; you're far prettier."

Lizzy remembered again what Charlotte had told her about her being pretty. "Don't say that," she said softly.

"Lizzy!" said a voice behind them.

Lizzy turned. "Charlotte," she said, trying to smile; then she saw the person Charlotte was leading over and stopped trying. "Jack."

"'lo, Lizzy," said Jack, grinning until he saw the tearstains on her face. "This is a bad time."

"No, it's a good a time as any," Lizzy said evenly.

Charlotte leaned in so close that her veil brushed Lizzy's cheek and Lizzy could smell the champagne on her ex-roommate's breath. "There's something I don't know, isn't there?"

Lizzy shrugged. "Yeah, but don't worry about it, it's okay. I needed to see him to clear some stuff up."

"I need to go dance with my husband," Charlotte said.

"Yeah," sighed Lizzy, "I guess you do."

"Tell me later?"

"Charlotte, you'll be on your honeymoon."

Charlotte mock-pouted. "Call me? As a wedding present? "

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go dance."

"I'll go, too," said Ben, as Charlotte waved and walked off. Then, he bent and whispered in Lizzy's ear, "Go easy on him, Zippy; he's no match for you."

He started off, but Lizzy called, "Oy!" When Ben turned back, she reached her hands out. "Camera."

Ben grinned and snapped a quick shot of Lizzy. "Need a couple pics of you, too," he reminded her. Then, he placed the camera in her hands, and stepped forward to kiss Lizzy on the cheek. "Have fun," he told Jack smiling.

"Friend of yours?" asked Jack coldly as soon as Ben was out of earshot.

"My dad."

"Oh," Jack said in an entirely different tone; Lizzy hated that he looked so good. This was the first time she'd seen him in a suit, and it suited him a little too well for her to be comfortable. "You should've introduced me."

"I think he knows who you are," Lizzy said, snapping a shot of Collins leading Charlotte to the dance floor. "You two met over the phone."

"Oh, that was him?" Jack said lightly.

"Yeah, I didn't feel like carrying a purse." Lizzy noticed her father asking Jane to dance and took a series of stills of their awkward maneuvering; she waited for Jack's apology.

"Would you like to dance?" Jack asked, offering his hand.

Lizzy glanced at him. "I'm working."

"Oh? They paying you?"

Lizzy caught another shot of Charlotte's parents, who were holding hands and watching their daughter with resignation. "Only in brownie points."

Jack snatched up a glass of champagne from the refreshment table next to the cake. "She's your roommate, isn't she?"

"She _was_; she'll be living with her husband now."

"Did you find a new roommate yet?" He was gulping down the champagne like water.

Lizzy glanced at him to see if he was looking to move in. _Worse_, she decided. _He's just trying to sustain the conversation_. "Yeah, our cousin Lydia. She graduated from high school a semester early, and she doesn't want to live in any of the dorms."

"Ah," said Jack. Then, he grinned, and it annoyed Lizzy that he was trying to recapture something they once had. "I bet you didn't expect to see me here; Charlotte came to Caribou yesterday to invite me."

"That was nice of her," Lizzy admitted, reminding herself to thank Charlotte later, "and no, I didn't expect to see you here." She snapped another shot of her father and Jane and then one of Charlotte grabbing another glass of champagne from the waitress. "I expected to see you at Netherfield."

"Oh," said Jack with obvious relief; _here it comes_, Lizzy thought. _The brilliant excuse._ "Sorry about the other night, Lizzy; I got tied up with something I couldn't get out of it."

"Uh-huh—what was her name?" said Lizzy.

"Pardon me?" Jack said startled.

"The girl who did the tying," Lizzy said.

Jack swallowed the rest of his champagne in one gulp; Lizzy hoped he got the hiccups. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that shit," snapped Lizzy.

Jack was silent, staring at the dance floor. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Lizzy."

"Don't flatter yourself," Lizzy told him quietly. "I'm more pissed at you for lying."

Jack raked his hand through his hair; it stood in so many odd directions that Lizzy couldn't resist taking a picture. She laughed at the surprise on his face. "Relax, Jack," she said. "We'd make much better friends anyway."

He grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid you're right, Lizzy; you're way too much for me."

Lizzy snorted. "A back-handed compliment, Jack?" she said, shaking her head ruefully. "I'm disappointed."

"Yes, well, how's this: I'm no good for you," said Jack grinning.

"Aww, but I knew that the second I met you," Lizzy told him.

"You see?" he said. "Definitely too smart for me."

Lizzy smiled at him and he smiled back, until the silence between them grew awkward. "I should go," Jack said.

"You should," Lizzy agreed.

"Bye, Lizzy," Jack said, kissing the corner of her mouth softly.

"Bye, Jack," she replied; as he walked away, she mused quietly that at least she didn't have to have go to Caribou to study anymore now that she had her apartment back. _Now I just need to wean myself off coffee_, she thought grinning and went to go take more pictures.

8.

At the end of the reception, Charlotte and her new husband piled into a car decorated with silver ribbons and tin bells (Collins scorned the traditional beer cans). While Ben Bennet got into the car with Molly Brettman, Charlotte Lucas' thesis advisor (who was a very attractive older woman once she was drunk enough to let her hair down), the Bennet twins climbed into their own car with relief. Jane was driving, because their father started pressing drinks into Lizzy's hands whenever she seemed like she was about to lose her temper with the newlyweds.

Jane was squinting in the dark and trying to make out the woman who'd invited their father home. "You know, Dad's bound to be attractive, because so many women are into him. But I just don't _see_ it."

Lizzy kicked off her shoes and clicked her seatbelt. "He just offers himself as a designated driver, which apparently makes for the best pick up line _ever_."

"Doesn't it bother you that our father is taking advantage of women?" Jane asked, turning the ignition.

"Those women, and especially Professor Brettman, can take care of themselves," Lizzy told Jane. "At least Dad goes after women his own age."

"He _could've_ called them a cab instead," said Jane scowling.

"He's not _Charlie_," Lizzy said, and she grinned. "Speaking of Charlie, you've avoided telling me about Netherfield for two days now."

"We were busy," Jane said, putting the car into reverse and backing out, "and Dad or Charlotte was always around."

"Stop apologizing and spill," Lizzy said grinning.

When Jane turned back around and shifted the car into drive, she was beaming. "Lizzy, I'm in love with Charlie."

"Well, I knew that," Lizzy said, huddling deeper into her coat and waiting for the heater to warm up.

"You knew? I didn't. Not until I kissed him."

"You _kissed_ him? _You_ kissed him?"

Jane was smiling so wide that Lizzy could count all her twin's dimples. "I'm so happy, Lizzy. I can't remember ever being this happy before."

"Well, don't leave me in suspense," Lizzy scolded. "Give me a play-by-play."

"So, after the party—" Jane started.

"Where both of you spent the entire night dancing together," Lizzy said.

"He asked me to come upstairs, because he wanted me to have my Christmas present," Jane continued.

"Ooo, that's a good pick-up line, too," said Lizzy. "I wonder if Dad's heard that one."

"Lizzy, I'll never finish this if you don't stop interrupting me," Jane huffed, and Lizzy clapped both hands over her smirking mouth. "Besides, I don't think that Dad could've pulled this off; Charlie wrote me a song."

Lizzy's hands dropped to her lap. "He wrote you a _song_?"

Jane nodded, pressing her lips together carefully but not managing to keep the corners of her mouth from curling upwards. "He was no nervous; he kept dropping his pick and fumbling with the sheet of lyrics."

"But B.F.D. doesn't write its own lyrics."

"This was Charlie's song, not B.F.D.'s."

Now Lizzy was smiling too. "What was it about?"

Jane's smile faded just a fraction. "He asked me not to talk about it; he says it's a work in progress and he's really sensitive about stuff like that."

"But I'm your sister! Your _twin_ sister!"

"Lizzy, _please_. He's never asked me for anything."

Lizzy slumped in her seat, crossing her arms. "Fine. Maybe I can convince him to sing it to me later."

Jane nodded, the smile growing back on her face. "I guess I can tell you that it basically said that he really, really liked me and didn't know how to tell me."

"_Liked_ you?" said Lizzy.

"Well, maybe that he loved me—it's kind of ambiguous," Jane admitted.

"Then, what did you do?" Lizzy asked.

"I…kissed him," Jane said slowly.

"That was pretty forward of you," Lizzy commented laughing.

"I _know_," Jane said, blushing and grinning. "I don't know what came over me. Well, actually I do know what came over me. Charlie just looked so _cute_, so uncertain and hopeful, that I just…" Jane sighed. "…bent down and kissed him."

"And you were pretty tipsy," said Lizzy.

"Yeah, I was out of it," admitted Jane ruefully. "Then I was embarrassed…"

"Because you were so forward," Lizzy said.

"…and I started apologizing and backing away to the door," Jane continued. "Charlie put down his guitar and caught me just before I managed to leave, and then he kissed _me_. And well, we were in his bedroom…"

Lizzy's mouth fell open. "You didn't have sex, did you? I told Dad you didn't."

"Almost," sighed Jane. "He had his hand on my zipper, and I really wanted to, but I also wanted him to respect me."

"You didn't want to be drunk your first time together," Lizzy said shrewdly.

"That, too," Jane said. "So we just slept with our arms around each other. All night long."

"That's…really romantic, Jane," said Lizzy softly. "Have you talked to him since then?"

"No, we've been playing phone tag," said Jane with a more subdued smile, "but on one of the messages, he sang me a new stanza to that song he wrote." Smiling, Lizzy turned to her sister and gripped Jane's hand firmly; Jane smiled back, squeezed Lizzy's hand, and took back her own hand to make a left hand turn onto their street. "I'm really happy, Lizzy."

"I'm happy _for _you," Lizzy said, and they smiled in silence for the rest of the ride. Lizzy kept sneaking glances at Jane, whose smile didn't waver for a second until after they'd let themselves inside the apartment and saw the door to Charlotte's old room gaping open.

"It's so empty," said Jane, peeking her head in.

"And bare," Lizzy said, leaning against the doorway. "I can't believe she took down all her posters."

"Lydia'll probably put some up," Jane said, rubbing Lizzy's back. "You'll see; it'll be fun. I'm going to miss Charlotte, though."

"I've missed her since she got engaged," Lizzy sighed.

Jane hugged her around the shoulders. "I need to take a shower."

"Okay, you can have it first," said Lizzy, kissing Jane on the cheek and walking into the kitchen. "I'm going to make myself some tea." She opened the cabinet and noticed the light blinking on their answering machine. "Hey, Jane! We have a couple messages!"

Jane stuck her head out of the bathroom, wrapping her robe around her. "Is it Charlie?"

"Let's find out," Lizzy said grinning and pressed _Play_:

"_Jane, it's Caroline, Caroline Bingley,_" said the machine, and Lizzy didn't like how smug Caroline sounded. "_I'm just calling to say goodbye. Me, Will, and Charlie are leaving this afternoon to go skiing at the Yellowstone Club in Montana; we go every year. I'm sure Charlie told you all about it, but Louisa's already gone and we're meeting dear Georgie there. We're taking the—"_

The machine beeped off and told the Bennet twins the time of the recording (_Tuesday, 2:14 PM_), and Jane looked at Lizzy, a frown beginning between her eyebrows. "But…Charlie told me that they weren't leaving until tomorrow; I was going to drive him to the airport to say goodbye."

The second message clicked on. "_Jane—Caroline, again. Your machine must have cut me off; I must've been rambling." _Caroline laughed; the recording made it sound tinny and false. "_Anyway, we're at the airport now, and we're headed to Montana to ski. After that, we're going directly to Boston for New Years. Will and Charlie have some B.F.D. things to do there, so we really don't know when we'll be back. Don't worry, darling; we'll keep in touch. Toodles!" _

The answering machine beeped again and told them _Tuesday, 2:16 PM_; Jane frowned at it. "Why did Caroline call? Why wasn't it Charlie?"

"I don't know," Lizzy said, watching Jane's uncertainty. "Maybe he called your cell phone."

Jane crossed the room, fished her phone out of her purse, and flipped it open. "No," she said, looking from the phone to Lizzy. "Caroline said that she didn't know when they'll be back."

"He'll call," Lizzy told her when she heard the tremor in Jane's voice. "Charlie'll probably call." When this still didn't bring the smile back to Jane's face, she added, "Well, they're going to be in Boston, right? Aren't you and Mom driving there to spend the holidays at Aunt Grace's? You can just go surprise him while you're there," suggested Lizzy.

Jane turned to Lizzy and grinned. "Oh, Lizzy," she said.

"What?" said Lizzy startled.

"Always taking care of me," said Jane, putting her phone into its charger and walking toward the bathroom. "Always worrying. _I'm_ the older sister, you know."

Lizzy knew that, but that didn't keep her from worrying. She had a very bad feeling about this. She hoped that it was just anxiety left over from Charlotte's marriage, but Caroline's smugness was echoing in her head. The Bingley sisters were up to something.


	6. End Where I Begun

Musical Interlude

Lizzy _knew_ that she should make allowances for Lydia's youth; she _knew_ she should be patient with her new roommate. After all, it was tough for a seventeen year old to leave home and start college early, but sometimes, it was just so hard to be _nice_. Jane was just so much better at it.

"Lydia, have you seen my black, wraparound sweater?" Lizzy asked. Actually, she already _knew_ that Lydia had it (she saw it in Lydia's room, on top of the dresser), but Jane had said that accusations weren't helpful. "I'm trying to pack, and I can't find it."

On the couch, Lydia looked away from the TV where a talk show host was laughing at the joke of some new rising actress with _huge_ hoop earrings; then Lydia turned slowly, her shoulders scrunched up to her ears and eyes wide. "I borrowed it," she said cautiously.

Jane had also told Lizzy that questions—Socrates-style—were preferable to yelling, so Lizzy next asked, "Lydia, didn't I tell you to _ask_ before you borrowed my clothes?"

"I did ask," Lydia insisted. "Last month, before my date with Bobby."

"All right," said Lizzy, taking a deep breath. "I'd like to ask me _every time_ you'd like to borrow something; you can't ask me once and assume it's yours to take whenever."

Lydia nodded. "Are you mad?" she asked, brown eyes still wide.

"Well, can I have it back please?" Lizzy said.

"Uh, well, Bobby took me to an Italian restaurant, and I ordered spaghetti, and—"

"You got it dirty," Lizzy said, reminding herself that this sweater was _black_ after all; marinara sauce wasn't going to stain it.

"I was going to wash it!" Lydia insisted. "I just didn't get around to it, yet… Are you mad?"

Lizzy sighed. "I'm just frustrated; I don't have time to wash it before I leave."

"I'm sorry," said Lydia with her best sorry face.

"Can I please have it back?" Lizzy said evenly. "I'll pack it dirty and wash it when I get to Charlotte's."

"Yeah," Lydia said, bouncing to her feet and running into her room.

Lizzy had edited some of Lydia's papers, so she _knew_ Lydia was smart. It was just that sometimes Lydia didn't seem to have any common _sense_. Jane kept telling Lizzy that it was just a phase and that Lydia would grow out of it, but since Jane had brought Lydia back from Boston in January, Lizzy felt like the apartment hadn't had any peace. If it wasn't the string of boys that Lydia was dating and bringing home (and on one infuriating occasion, into Lizzy's darkroom), it was Lydia's TV with cable—bought and paid for by good old Aunt Vicky, Lydia's mother. If it wasn't Lydia's TV blaring _The OC _or MTV or whatever at almost full volume, it was Lydia _talking _about _The OC_ or MTV or her hair or Ashlee Simpson's hair at almost full volume. Lizzy hoped the phase would be over soon; the only thing that stopped her from losing her temper with Lydia was Jane, who was upset enough already without having to settle roommate squabbles.

From her place leaning against the couch, Lizzy could see Jane sitting at her desk, in the pink flannel bathrobe she'd received on their fifteenth birthday. Her book was open in front of her, a picture of a heart colored red and blue, but Jane had pushed it to the corner of the desk, so far away from her that it teetered off the edge. Her long, red hair was tangled and probably not as clean as it might have been.

From the speakers of Jane's laptop, Charlie's voice was singing in a sweet, encouraging whisper; a guitar (probably Darcy) was plucking out a harmony. Lizzy leaned against the couch, crossed her arms, and listened.

_Let us melt, _Charlie breathed, _and make no noise._

_No tear-floods, nor tempests move._

_It was a profanation of our joys_

_To tell them of our love._

_The moving of the earth_

_Brings harms and fears._

_Men reason what it meant_

_But these rumbles of our sphere,_

_Though strange, are innocent._

Because she'd googled it, Lizzy knew that this song, "End Where I've Begun," hadn't done very well on the charts (it'd peaked at 89 or something), because it was too wordy for radio. Some crotchety old men in tweed had also denounced it on _Good Morning, America_ for altering John Donne's word choice in "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning," which hadn't helped its popularity much.

Of course, none of that bothered Jane. Ever since Jane had gotten back from New York, both of B.F.D.'s albums had been playing almost nonstop, and "End Where I've Begun" was the track that Jane skipped to the most often.

_Our two souls, therefore_

_Are one._

_Though I must go,_

_Endure._

_If they be two,_

_They are two so_

_As stiff_

_Twin compasses are two;_

_Your soul the fixed foot_

_Make no show to move,_

_Except if the other do._

_Dull lovers' love_

_(their souls are sense)_

_cannot admit absense._

_It does remove what created it._

_But we,_

_By a love so far refined,_

_That ourselves did not know_

_What it was—_

_We assured of the mind,_

_Care less_

_Of eyes, lips, hands_

_To miss (to miss)._

That _dull lovers'_ stanza never failed to remind Lizzy of that day in February, when Jane stopped insisting that she'd simply mis_read_ Charlie, that she'd _imagined_ that he loved her, that he was only a very good friend and nothing more. That was the day when a moving van pulled through the Netherfield gates and when Lizzy found Jane watching by the window, her hands over her mouth. It was the first time Jane had cried.

"I should've told him I loved him," Jane sobbed, face red as her hair and streaming tears onto Lizzy's shirt.

Lizzy had held her twin, because she didn't know what else to do. "No," she told Jane, because she didn't know what else to say.

"I should've slept with him that night; no guy wants a prude."

Lizzy shook her head over Jane's hair. "Charlie's not like that."

"Then what's _wrong _with me?" Jane asked, curling her face into Lizzy's shoulder.

_Our two souls, therefore_

_Are one._

_Though I must go,_

_Endure._

_If they be two,_

_They are two so_

_As stiff_

_Twin compasses are two;_

_Your soul the fixed foot_

_Make no show to move,_

_Except if the other do._

Lydia came out of the bathroom just in time for the guitar solo, holding Lizzy's sweater above her head triumphantly. "Found it! It took me a while, though." She placed it into Lizzy's hand and saw her watching Jane. "You know," she said, "we've probably heard this song a _million_ times, and I still don't know what it means."

"It means…" said Lizzy softly, as she folded the sweater so that the dried and crusty spaghetti sauce was on the inside. "It means I know you, and you're my rock. For everywhere I go, you're the place that I travel from. Even though I have leave you now, I'll always come back to you; I'll 'end where I begun.'"

"Then why didn't they just say _that_ then?" Lydia asked, and Lizzy laughed at Lydia's expression, head slightly tilted and mouth slightly open (she could've been an extra in _Clueless)_. "She really likes B.F.D., huh?"

Lizzy knew that it had less to do with B.F.D. and more to do with hearing the sound of Charlie's voice again, and Lydia probably guessed it, too. Lydia wasn't _stupid_, but she wasn't above acting that way as a means to try to trick Lizzy into saying something. Lizzy was sure that Lydia had heard the campus rumors still buzzing from the Netherfield Ball about the rock-star and the pretty pre-med student, and she _knew_ how much Lydia wanted to know more. But the Bennet twins had made the decision not to tell Lydia about Jane and Charlie (luckily Lydia had been on a date that day in February when Jane cried, and Lizzy didn't know what to say). They'd never hear the end of it if they did. There wasn't much point in telling a story without a happy ending anyway.

On Jane's speakers, The guitar solo ended abruptly, and Charlie came back acapella. Lizzy could hear the smile in his voice.

_And though it,_

_In the center sit_

_Yet when the other_

_Far does roam_

_It leans and_

_Harkens after it,_

_And grows erect_

_As that comes home._

_(comes home_

_comes home_

_comes home)_

Lizzy couldn't help but smile a little as the guitar solo picked back up, and Charlie's voice rose in a crescendo.

_Such will you be to me,_

_Who must_

_Like the other foot_

_Obliquely run_

_Your firmness makes_

_My circle just_

_And makes me_

_End where I begun_

_(End where I begun_

_End where I begun_

_End where I begun_

_End where I…begun)_

The song ended after a few more power cords, and Lizzy sighed when she heard her sister rewind the track and start it again but it didn't stop her from standing up and returning to her room to finish packing.


	7. Entertainments at Rosings Park

1.

Lizzy _really_ needed this break; she _had_ to get out of that apartment. She had to keep reminding herself that she'd never been in love, so she couldn't know what a broken heart felt like. But honestly, it had been three months since Charlie had left. At a certain point, Jane just needed to _move on_, and Lizzy couldn't think of anything else she could do to help her. So, when Charlotte called and invited her to Rosings Park for Spring Break, Lizzy had ignored her guilty conscience, risked seeing Collins again, and taken her up on it.

As for Charlotte—

Well, although Lizzy hated to admit it, Charlotte looked good. In baggage claim, when Lizzy was searching among the rolling duffles and tagged suitcases for her own beat-up luggage, she hadn't even recognized her ex-roommate. She'd gone blonde for one thing, and she was wearing a skirt suit (Lizzy thought it was linen) and a diamond chocker.

"Lizzy, you look terrible," said Charlotte, hugging her around the shoulders.

"I just woke up," Lizzy mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "And what about you? You're all fancy."

"Is it bad?" Charlotte asked, reaching up to touch her hair.

"No," said Lizzy, stifling a yawn. "You look great; I just never thought I'd see you out of paint-splattered jeans and peasant tops. It's a big change."

Charlotte shrugged. "How's Jane?" she asked, and Lizzy grimaced. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Lizzy sighed; she pointed out a couple old leather valises. "Those are mine."

She grabbed one, and Charlotte grabbed the other, the choker swinging off her neck and her blonde hair falling into her face. "Ugh, this is ancient," said Charlotte.

"It was Dad's," said Lizzy with a proud grin. "My Christmas present. They were his when he was just starting out; they've been everywhere—Bali, the Rhine, South Africa, _Egypt_. I'd love to go to Egypt."

Charlotte smirked, placing a dramatic hand over her heart. "Sentiment value--it turns crap into gold."

Lizzy stuck her tongue out at Charlotte, who laughed and slung an arm around Lizzy's shoulders. "Real mature. Come on; my car's out front."

Charlotte's car was a BMW—black and brand new. "Wow," said Lizzy, dropping her suitcases in the trunk. "It's so _shiny_."

"It's a wedding present," said Charlotte grinning.

"From Collins?" said Lizzy carefully, as she opened the passenger door and stepped into the car.

"From Lady de Bourgh," Charlotte corrected, turning the ignition.

"She's got a title?" said Lizzy surprised.

"Not yet, but she's prowling the market," Charlotte said. "Tell me about Jane."

It wasn't lost on Lizzy that Charlotte was deliberately changing the subject, but traveling had made too tired ride to push it. "Jane's an insomniac now," said Lizzy, "but only at night. She takes catnaps for most of the day; sometimes I can't get her out of bed even for meals. Even for linguine, chicken, and sugar snap peas."

"That's her favorite still?" Charlotte said, and when Lizzy nodded, Charlotte grimaced sympathy. "Is she even going to classes?" Charlotte asked.

"Yeah, but her grades suck for the first time in her life," Lizzy replied, "and the Valentine's Day Ball was the first dance at school that Jane hasn't helped organize since she started at Vickroot."

"Well, it was Valentine's Day; that's understandable," Charlotte said. "What do her friends say?"

"They send lots of _Get Well Soon_ cards; everybody thinks she has mono," explained Lizzy.

"Even your cousin?"

"Even Lydia," said Lizzy. "I have to run the dishwater twice, because Lydia's germaphobic and thinks Jane's contagious. She's completely clueless; she even keeps finding all these shows with B.F.D. on them and calling Jane into the room. You know what came in the mail last week? _B.F.D.: Behind the Music_. Jane _ordered_ the DVD online--that's not normal, is it?'

"Well, I guess it's hard to make a clean break when your ex is a rock star, especially one keeping himself busy promoting his new album-in-progress," said Charlotte in her most diplomatic voice, and Lizzy knew that if Jane was anyone else, Charlotte might have labeled her pathetic.

"You know, on those shows, he doesn't look good," Lizzy commented frowning. "Jane always says so, but he looks terrible to me. He seems really tired, so maybe Charlie's not sleeping either."

"_Lizzy,"_ said Charlotte reproachfully.

"I know, I know," said Lizzy sighing. "I just can't shake the feeling that he really, _really_ cared about her; besides, it's hard to help Jane get closure when I don't know what happened either. He just _left_." Lizzy's face hardened, and she looked out the window, watching manicured lawns and sculptured hedges slip away. "And never came back."

"I bet it was Caroline," said Charlotte. "She had bitch written all over her."

"Yeah, but what did Caroline have to lose over him dating Jane?" said Lizzy. "If anything, she'd get more; it'd be even _easier_ to take advantage of Charlie if they were together. He'd be too happy to say no to anything." Lizzy sighed. "Jane hasn't cried either. Well, once." Lizzy was silent for a moment, remembering. "She wishes she'd slept with him after his party."

"She didn't sleep with him?" cried Charlotte.

"You know Jane," said Lizzy. "She wanted their first time to be special and preferably at least a day after their first kiss."

"They didn't even kiss until _Christmas_?" Charlotte asked aghast.

Lizzy ignored this. "I just don't see Charlie breaking off all communication with someone, just because he wasn't getting any."

"What about Jack Wickham?" Charlotte said.

She was changing the subject again; Lizzy guessed that Charlotte didn't agree with Lizzy about Charlie's reasons for leaving. "What _about_ Wickhead?"

Charlotte smirked and searched Lizzy's face. "Anything?"

Lizzy smirked back, shaking her head. "I've seen him _once_ since your wedding, when Lydia dragged me to the mall and I needed some coffee to get through it. She and Jack flirted a little (Lydia's got long, white-blonde hair, and Jack can never resist a blonde). I was surprised to find out how much it didn't bother me."

"So, if Jack and Lydia started dating, it wouldn't bother you?"

"Of course, it would! Jack would eat her alive," Lizzy said. "but he wouldn't go for her. She's just too young; he's bound to be almost ten years older."

"And you?" Charlotte asked pointedly.

"I'm too smart for him," Lizzy said with a wry grin. "Jack couldn't keep up with me."

"I meant how are _you_?"

Charlotte watched her friend's smile become sad, as Lizzy looked out the window at the huge, well-groomed green lawn and tapped on the glass idly. "I'm fine. I just don't know what to do about Jane; I can't think of anything I haven't tried."

"Well, tell me what you've tried," Charlotte said, turning down the radio. "Maybe I can help."

"I've tried to cheer her up—you know, cooking her favorite meals and—" started Lizzy, but the phone rang at her feet and she jumped.

"Shit," said Charlotte scowling. "Sorry; can you get that?"

Lizzy bent and fished the phone out of Charlotte's purse. "I can't believe that you downloaded the Addams Family theme for your ringtone," she snorted, handing the phone over.

"It's only for Rosings," said Charlotte grimacing. "You'll understand when you see it."

Charlotte flipped open the phone. "Hello? Oh, hi honey." To Lizzy, she mouthed, "It's my husband." After a really long pause, she said, "Yeah, I just picked her up…Right now? I was going to head over after we went home to drop off Lizzy's luggage. It won't take but a minute." There was a really long pause after this one, and Lizzy could hear Collins' nasal tones talking very quickly. "Well, _okay, _honey, but no matter what she says, dinner won't be ruined if Lizzy and I just—" Collins interrupted her with a lot of squawking, and Charlotte sighed irritably. "No, honey, I'm not; I'm actually very grateful for everything Mrs. de Bourgh—You know what? Never mind, we're on our way. Uh-huh—yeah—bye now." Charlotte hung up, threw the phone back to the ground at Lizzy's feet, and scowled.

"Trouble?" asked Lizzy.

"Quick," said Charlotte, looking at Lizzy, "do you have anything you can put on?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" said Lizzy, looking down at her jeans and pink Oxford shirt. "It's _clean_."

"Trust me on this," said Charlotte, braking at a stop sign. "You'll have to change in the backseat."

"I can't; I don't have anything that doesn't need to be washed or ironed," said Lizzy frowning. "Charlotte, what's going on?"

Without taking her eyes off the road, Charlotte reached in the back for a hairbrush. "Here, fix your hair; if you want to pull it back, there's a barrette in the glove compartment."

"_Charlotte_," Lizzy said reproachfully, "what's going _on_?"

"Lady de Bourgh is big on first impressions," Charlotte said grimly, looking behind her and then pulling a U-turn so fast that Lizzy was thrown against her window. "Mr. Collins had me go through a whole makeover before I met her."

_Well, that explains a lot_, Lizzy thought, glancing at Charlotte's suit again. "First of all, Charlotte, it's beyond weird that you still call your husband 'Mr. Collins,'" snorted Lizzy, picking up the brush and flipping down the sun visor to check her hair out in the mirror. "Second of all, I'll take the blame for how I dress, so don't worry about the de Bourgh bitch."

"Lizzy, you don't understand—" Charlotte started cautiously.

Lizzy opened the glove compartment, pulled out Charlotte's barrette (it was hammered silver and very classy), and put it in her mouth as she brushed her hair. "Relax, Charlotte," she mumbled around the barrette. "How bad can she be?"

2.

If there was a competition in _Architectural Digest_ for "Most Likely to Become the Set for a Haunted House Movie," Rosings would definitely win it; it had it all: high, spooky ceilings; red-carpeted, winding staircases; creaking, hardwood floors; heavy, velvet curtains; and dim lighting. Lizzy hoped she was being unfair and reminded herself firmly that plenty of old houses were creepy at nighttime.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Lizzy asked Charlotte, after the butler let them into an unlit entryway. (_A real, live butler!_ Lizzy thought. _I thought those went extinct in the eighties._)

"Well, Rosings is still being renovated," said Charlotte quietly. "We're still having trouble getting the electrician to come out here."

"There's no _electricity_?" Lizzy said and laughed. "Is the meal being catered, or are we having steak tartar by candlelight?"

"Not so _loud_, Lizzy," said Charlotte, taking Lizzy's arm and guiding her down the dark corridor with a flashlight on her keychain; Lizzy noted the full-length portraits and antique tables with gleaming finishes. "Some parts of the house—kitchen included—have already been rewired, and Mrs. de Bourgh's chef is really good."

The hall was longer than Lizzy had expected, but there was a light at the end of this tunnel. Lizzy giggled. "I've had dreams like this, you know—where you go through the only unlocked door, and there's either something really good or something terrible. I bet it's something terrible, like the dragon named de Bourgh."

"Lizzy, she'll hear you," hissed Charlotte.

"Oh, come _on_, Charlotte; this whole thing is _surreal_," Lizzy scoffed.

"_Lizzy—_"

Beyond the door at the end of the hallway, Lizzy heard a self-important, female voice say, "I think I _hear_ Charlotte now." And then, louder, the same voice almost-screeched, "_Charlotte!_"

"Coming, ma'am," said Charlotte, opening the door. Through the crack, Lizzy could only see a chubby woman in a sequined evening dress sitting primly in an armchair.

"There you are, Charlotte," the woman trilled. "And where's this _guest_ I've heard so _much_ about?"

"Here, ma'am," said Charlotte, opening the door the rest of the way. Lizzy found herself walking into a very spacious living room, austerely decorated in a very modern style. All the furniture was sharp-cornered and spaced far apart; the chair that Collins was sitting in, for example, was wooden and without cushions, obviously not comfortable but as close to Mrs. de Bough as he could get. Lizzy was surprised to find other people in the room: sitting on a loveseat, a woman about Charlotte's age with a pointed nose and very blue eyes, and on the black leather couch sat two young men in suits, one of whom Lizzy recognized with surprise.

"Elizabeth Bennet," he said standing.

"Mr. Darlington!" said Lizzy.

"Well, she certainly makes her _entrance_, doesn't she?" said Mrs. de Bourgh. "Come over here, girl, so I can get a _look_ at you."

Lizzy raised her eyebrows, but at Charlotte's pleading look, choose not say anything and stood in front of the lady's chair docilely. "Mrs. de Bourgh, this is my friend Lizzy," said Charlotte; Mrs. de Bourgh flicked her gaze over Lizzy's clothing. Lizzy raised her chin and waited until Mrs. de Bourgh looked her in the eye. "Lizzy, this is Mrs. de Bourgh, and her daughter Anne." Charlotte gestured to the young woman seated on the loveseat, who nodded and smoothed the dark satin of her dress nervously; then Charlotte turned to the couch. "These are Mrs. de Bourgh's nephews. Will Darlington, you know, but this is Richard Fitzwilliam."

Richard Fitzwilliam had a red crest of hair and an easy smile, but he wore his suit like it hurt him. He stood up to shake Lizzy's hand. "Nice to meet you. Heard _a lot _about you."

Lizzy laughed. "Who's been talking about me?" she asked, glancing at Collins.

"Lizzy," said Mrs. de Bourgh slowly, shaking her head. Lizzy turned, but it seemed like Mrs. de Bourgh was just taking her name for a test run. "Dreadful, _common_ name."

"I'm sorry," said Lizzy, trying not to smile. "You can call me Zipporah; it's not common but it's my middle name."

Mrs. de Bourgh raised her eyebrows with pursed lips. "I suppose I could call you Eliza."

"That's what Mr. Collins calls me," said Lizzy nodding.

"However, most Elizas I know understand that when they are _invited_ to dinner, they should_ dress_ appropriately," said Mrs. de Bourgh.

"Well, most invitations to dinner are given far enough in advance that I have time to find something to wear," replied Lizzy, smiling to soften the blow.

Someone—a maid, if Lizzy could judge by the black and white uniform—came with seven glasses of red wine.

"You're _young_, aren't you, to be so _opinionated_," said Mrs. de Bourgh, raising her chin.

Lizzy laughed. "That's nothing; if you wanted to hear my opinion, you should have asked me about Robert Mapplethorpe."

"Who's Robert Mapplethorpe?" Richard Fitzwilliam asked his cousin.

"Photographer," Will whispered back.

"Bingo—point for Mr. Darlington," said Lizzy, taking a glass of wine and smiling a thanks to the maid.

Frowning, Mrs. de Bourgh sipped her wine. "How _old_ are you, Eliza?"

"Twenty-one, ma'am," said Lizzy, surprised that she could get carded at a private residence.

"William, what's wrong?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked.

Lizzy turned to look. Darcy had his eyes closed and his lips pressed together tight; his shoulders were shaking. At first glance, it seemed like he was trying not to cough, but when he turned and met Lizzy's gaze, his eyes were laughing. "Nothing, Aunt Catherine," he told Mrs. de Bourgh. "The wine—it went down the wrong way."

"Must be _careful_," Mrs. de Bourgh said sharply. "You're recording in less than a month; you can't _afford_ to get sick now."

"Yes, ma'am," said Will, and Lizzy was surprised to see him so docile.

A maid—Lizzy thought it was the same maid, but she couldn't be sure. It was definitely the same uniform.—came to tell Mrs. de Bourgh that dinner was ready; Mrs. de Bourgh made Will escort her into the dining room, which led Richard Fitzwilliam to offer his cousin Anne his arm, which inspired Collins to grab Charlotte to his side, which left Lizzy walking by herself. Lizzy couldn't help but feel that she was being insulted in some roundabout way, but Lizzy didn't mind much, if it meant that she was being spared an escort.

Dinner wasn't much better than introductions. After another glass of wine, Mrs. de Bourgh started telling Lizzy about the house (without prompting), "It was built in late 1888, in the gothic style, at the _expense_ of one George Whitman. Mr. Collins, how _much_ did you say that it was built for again?"

"The main house—approximately $40,000, Mrs. de Bourgh," said Collins swiftly. "The carriage house—approximately $9,000. The stables—approximately $10,000. The guest house—"

"That's enough now, Mr. Collins," said Charlotte softly with a hand on his arm.

"It passed hands _several_ times, and by the time young Mr. Collins found it, it was a _wreck_. Isn't that so, Mr. Collins?"

"Absolutely," agreed Collins. "A disaster."

"But I fell in _love_ with it the moment I saw it," Mrs. de Bourgh told Lizzy. "In the pictures that Collins brought to me, I saw so much _potential_, so I wouldn't take no for an answer. I sent him _straight_ back here to begin work."

"Work?" said Lizzy.

"That's what he does, Lizzy," Charlotte said quietly. "He renovates mansions and makes them liveable again."

For Charlotte's sake, Lizzy stopped herself from commenting that she didn't find Rosings very 'liveable' at all.

"Cost me a pretty _penny_, too, I assure you," said Mrs. de Bourgh. "Old homes are so _expensive_ nowadays and so much _work_. Did you know that _every floorboard_ in this house had to be ripped up and laid again."

"Is that when you worked on rewiring the place?" asked Lizzy.

"Pardon?" asked Mrs. de Bourgh. It was obvious that she hadn't expected Lizzy to speak.

"I heard that you were having difficulties with the wiring," said Lizzy. "Wouldn't it make sense to put new wires in while the floors are up? That way you wouldn't have to rip up the walls."

The table was silent for a short moment, until Mr. Collins said with a tolerant smile, "_Miss_ Eliza Bennet, perhaps it would be wise if you did not speak of things you know nothing about."

William Darcy choked on his soup, and his cousin slapped him on the back. "He's fine," Richard Fitzwilliam told his aunt. "Too much pepper."

Mrs. de Bourgh nodded and then tackled her own soup, listening to Collins apologize for Lizzy's "inappropriate despicable behavior. I'm really dreadfully sorry, Mrs. de Bourgh; she's been this way ever since Charlotte's and my engagement. I must say she must _regret_ the choice she made…" It continued on in this way for a few minutes, and Lizzy was about to let them know that she could _hear_ them (the table wasn't all that long) before she decided that she really didn't want to attract any more attention from _that_ side of the table.

So, she turned her own attention the other way to a crowd that wasn't much better, but even Darcy clearing his throat was more interesting than House Renovations 101. "You still with us, Mr. Darlington?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said, his voice hoarse but his accent undeniably British.

"You're going to have to excuse Will," said Darcy's cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam. "He hates Collins on principle for butchering poor, old, unsuspecting houses, and you just accidentally pointed out how incompetent Collins is."

"Incompetent?" Lizzy repeated.

"Did you_ notice_ the floorboards squeaking when you came in?" asked Richard Fitzwilliam.

"Yeah," said Lizzy slowly, wondering what the hell he was talking about; then she realized. "Oh, they're new; new floors shouldn't squeak."

"Hole in one, kiddo," said Richard Fitzwilliam, talking through a mouthful of pumpkin soup.

Lizzy raised an eyebrow at being called kiddo (he couldn't be _that_ much older than her) but didn't comment. Instead, she said, "You look familiar. Did you visit Charlie at Netherfield?"

Richard Fitzwilliam stared at Lizzy, mouth open and bread gaping out of it.

"He's my bandmate," Darcy said quietly, taking a careful sip of his soup.

"Oh, you're _Fitz_," Lizzy said, recognizing now the crest of red hair.

"Not too bright, is she?" Fitz asked Will, grinning at Lizzy.

"Quite bright actually," said Will, setting down his soup spoon and not looking at either of them. "But somewhat dense in certain areas."

"Congratulations, Mr. Darlington," said Lizzy darkly. "You haven't said more than twenty words tonight, and already you've managed to insult me."

Darcy glanced at Lizzy, face blank. "You may call whatever you like," he told her. "I am among my family here; they are all well aware of what my surname is."

"Chickpea," said Lizzy.

"I beg your pardon," said Will Darcy, turning to her.

"Honeycakes," Lizzy continued, letting her mouth curl into a grin. "Lambpie. Sugarplum."

"May I ask why you're listing foods?" asked Will Darcy.

"You said I may call you whatever I like," said Lizzy lightly. "I'm just trying names out."

"Try Snookums," suggested Fitz.

"I _meant,_" said Will Darcy, glaring at his cousin, "that you may call me by my real name."

"I knew what you meant," said Lizzy, "but in your business, you might need to be more careful. You never know when the paparazzi's going to take your sarcasm literally."

"Hear, hear," said Fitz heartily. "You know," he told Lizzy, "at the post-tour press conference, they asked me what I was planning on doing for my vacation, and I said base-jumping off Mount Everest." Lizzy snickered into her soup. "Yeah, you laugh, but apparently some reporters showed up there looking for me."

Lizzy grinned. "So, what are you two doing here?" she asked. "You managed to salvage Christmas by excluding your relatives, and now your aunt is demanding retribution?"

Fitz grinned at Lizzy, red eyebrows blending into his hairline. "I see what you mean. Has her stupid moments, but moments of brilliance too."

Lizzy grinned back. "Not really; I've just got my share of bad relatives. How'd Mrs. de Bourgh manage to actually get you here? My aunts keep inviting me to things, but I don't go unless they pull something really sneaky. Like marrying off my favorite cousin or something."

"She threatened to sell my kidneys," said Fitz.

"She's our manager," Will told Lizzy.

"_She's_ your manager?" Lizzy said, glancing down the table to where Catherine de Bourgh had called the cook out of the kitchen and was telling him how long (fourteen minutes and twenty seconds) she wanted her filet mignon grilled. "How does she like the tour bus?"

"Well, she has an assistant who travels with us," said Fitz.

"How's he? The assistant, I mean," said Lizzy. There was no telling, considering Collins.

"It's a she," Fitz corrected. He fiddled with his butter knife, turning it over and over on the tablecloth. "And she's okay, I guess."

"She's his wife," Will Darcy told Lizzy.

"You married your manager?" Lizzy cried, delighted. "That's so—" Lizzy stopped herself.

"Romantic?" suggested Fitz darkly. "Cliché?"

"I believe Miss Bennet was going to say 'cute,'" guessed Will Darcy.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose because he was right.

Fitz sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Even worse."

"Why isn't she here?" Lizzy asked.

"Pregnant," Fitz explained. "Our first."

"Congratulations," beamed Lizzy.

"What do you mean?" Fitz asked. "I'm still here."

Lizzy laughed which was a mistake, because it drew Mrs. de Bourgh's attention. "What's so funny down there? I can't _hear_ you from here."

"Fitz told a joke, Aunt Catherine," Will said quietly.

"You know, the one about the aunt," said Fitz.

"Richard, how many times must I tell you?" said Mrs. de Bourgh. "Some things are not to be discussed at the dinner table, and insects are one of them." Luckily, then Mrs. de Bourgh returned to her conversation with Collins.

"You're so punny," Lizzy told Fitz with a grin.

"I know," said Fitz. "I practice."

After this, Mrs. de Bourgh decided that Fitz, Darcy, and Lizzy had had enough talking to themselves and conquered the conversation by telling Fitz and Dar that the next day's schedule would include going through album cover sketches and reading the _Cindy, Cindy_ screenplay.

The after dinner conversation wasn't much better. Most everyone sat around drinking coffee, but Lizzy was trying to curb her Caribou-fed addiction and declined. She sat quietly next to Charlotte, trying to be on her best behavior (she even tried not to say anything), but Mrs. de Bourgh managed to maneuver the conversation from B.F.D. publicity-related stuff to what Fitz and Dar should wear on their _Good Morning, America_ appearance next week to men's fashion in general to women's fashion, and then to Lizzy's poor, unsuspecting purse.

"I don't understand why purses must be so _big_," said Mrs. de Bourgh. "Having a big purse just invites more materialism in today's youth; _look _at Eliza's bag there." As everyone in the room's attention turned toward her, Lizzy looked down at her leather satchel, which she was normally very proud of. She could've never afforded it herself, but it had been a present from a designer during her time in New York. "I don't understand how you can need to carry enough to fill that."

"It's big enough to use as a carry-on," said Lizzy half-shrugging.

"What object that size could you _possibly_ need on the plane with you?" Mrs. de Bourgh sniffed, reminding Lizzy strongly of Caroline Bingley.

"Honestly, I was in such a rush this morning that I can't remember what I put in—_oh!_" cried Lizzy, looking at Charlotte. Then, she pulled open the bag quickly and pulled out a large, linen-covered photo album.

"Wedding pictures!" cried Mrs. de Bourgh. "Finally. Charlotte's been telling me to be patient, and I've been telling her that I haven't a patient bone in my body."

"Well, they're not wedding pictures actually," said Lizzy slowly. "Those are still in my suitcase." She held out the album to Charlotte, who took it uncertainly. "It's my wedding present to you," explained Lizzy. "I'm sorry it's late."

Charlotte looked from the album to Lizzy, her chin quivering almost unnoticeably above the diamond choker; she opened it—the title page was the photograph that Ben and Lizzy Bennet had fought over the day before Charlotte's wedding. Lizzy was surprised to see how young the print of Charlotte's face looked next the blonde, suited original. When Charlotte turned the page to a poised shot from a few years ago—of Charlotte's cheesy grin and Lizzy's laugh, Lizzy said quietly, so that only Charlotte could hear, "It's nothing big; it's just a bunch of photographs from the past couple years." Lizzy had planned to say _our life together_, but it sounded too cliché now that she was here.

"How absurd," said Mrs. de Bourgh to Mr. Collins. "A book of photographs by an _amateur_ artist. In my day, we gave candlesticks and embroidered pillow-cases; _useful_ things."

Lizzy turned to Mrs. de Bourgh, glaring, and would have said something scornful and biting, but Darcy said instead, "Miss Bennet is very well respected by those who know of her. I would be surprised if she remained an amateur photographer for long." Lizzy glanced at Will in surprise, but he was pointedly not looking at her.

Charlotte placed a hand on Lizzy's arm. "Sentimental value, Mrs. de Bourgh," said Charlotte, looking at Lizzy. "It turns crap into gold." She hugged Lizzy and said softly, "Thank you."

Mrs. de Bourgh's daughter coughed twice weakly; it was the first noise Lizzy had heard her make.

"Eliza Bennet," said Mrs. de Bourgh sharply; Lizzy guessed that Mrs. de Bourgh was tired of a conversation that she didn't control.

"Yes, ma'am," said Lizzy with resignation.

"Do you play the piano?" asked Mrs. de Bourgh.

"Just scales, ma'am," said Lizzy laughing. "My mother tried to get me to practice, but I wasn't very patient."

Mrs. de Bourgh gestured with a heavily-ringed hand to the back of the room, where a piano stood gleaming and lonely in the darkest corner of the room. "We have a _beautiful_ Baby Grand, and I haven't found anyone to play for us." Lizzy nodded an acknowledgement, because she couldn't think of anything to say. "_You_ will play for us."

"Um…" said Lizzy, because she _still _couldn't think of anything to say. "Mrs. de Bourgh, when I say that I can only play scales, I'm not being modest or anything; I _really_ can only do scales."

"You will_ play_ for us, Miss Eliza Bennet," said Mrs. de Bourgh, putting her nose into the air. "In _my _day, a guest didn't refuse her _hostess_ when presented with such an _insignificant _request."

Lizzy opened her mouth indignantly, about to ask whatever happened to _the guest is always right_ or whatever, and since when was humiliation "such an insignificant request," but Charlotte placed a hand on Lizzy's shoulder.

"Please, Lizzy," Charlotte pleaded, and Lizzy made a face but went.

Lizzy hated that this was Mrs. de Bourgh's way of letting Lizzy know that she wasn't good enough to take part in the conversation; she hated that the de Bourgh bitch was getting away with it (not that Lizzy wanted to get all excited about the pressure washer coming tomorrow like Collins, Charlotte, and Mrs. de Bourgh were doing). She hated that she was the one practicing scales on a beautiful mahogany piano that didn't deserve such an indignity when there were two professional musicians in the room that could _definitely_ do a better job.

Fitz appeared, leaning on the top of the piano with his red hair raised like a flag. "I've never heard scales played with such gusto."

"This isn't gusto," said Lizzy grimly, trying out some half-remembered chords. "It's restraint. If I had my way, I'd be over there smacking the Botox off the old bat."

Fitz grinned. "Aunt Catherine doesn't use Botox; she's too old-fashioned."

"Face lift, then."

"Screws behind her ears and everything," Fitz agreed nodding. "Scoot over. I did a little piano in my time too."

Lizzy moved to make room on the bench, and Fitz sat down, trying out some broken chords with a practiced ease. "Somebody got past scales."

"I'm a Fitzwilliam," said Fitz with a bored scowl. "We're old money. We train our children to impress our business associates."

Will Darcy arrived, looming above the Baby Grand and its two pianists with his hand idly resting on its top. Lizzy turned her attention to the keyboard and plucked out the _Jaws_ theme. "Look, I remembered something," said Lizzy.

Will scowled at Lizzy but didn't say anything; Fitz snorted, "Too notes. Congrats."

"Hey, it's two notes up from scales," Lizzy retorted grinning. When Will still didn't say anything and still kept staring at her, Lizzy leaned towards Fitz and asked, "All right, Mr. Fitzwilliam; maybe you can tell me why your cousin keeps staring at me. Is he trying to intimidate me or do I have something in my teeth?"

Fitz started the first few bars of Moonlight Sonata an octave too low, because Lizzy was where he needed to sit. "Dunno. Let's see your teeth, kiddo." Lizzy wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth. "Nope, that's not it. Must be the intimidation thing."

"I have never tried to intimidate you, Miss Bennet," Will said stiffly.

"No? Then what is this?" said Lizzy laughing. She hunched her shoulders, scowled hugely, and took on a deep British accent. "_No pictures_."

"That was an entirely different matter," Will protested.

"Okay…" said Fitz, looking from Will to Lizzy.

"That was the first thing Mr. Darcy said to me last October," Lizzy said. "We were at one of my school's party, and I was taking pictures, minding my own business—well, my sister's business at least. I was taking pictures of _her_, and suddenly, there's this guy—very, very tall and imposing—taking my camera and trying to expose my film."

"_Will,_" said Fitz, tut-tutting and shakng his head. "For shame."

"Charlie was in the shot," Will explained scowling.

"You could've at least asked me what I was doing before snatching my camera," Lizzy told him.

"I don't perform for strangers," said Will.

"What?" Lizzy laughed. "What's playing a bunch of songs to a full stadium, if it isn't performing for strangers?"

"I meant only that I don't have the talent for talking easily to people I don't know," said Will impatiently.

"Talent, Mr. Darcy? Don't give yourself that excuse," said Lizzy. She pulled her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans and opened it up to show him a blurry still of what might be the back of a pick-up truck.

Frowning, Will took it for closer inspection. "Not your best work, Miss Bennet."

"Exactly," she said grinning. "It's overexposed and out of focus, but it's the first picture I ever developed by myself. I keep it with me to remind myself that trial and error can pay off. All _you_ need is practice."

Will handed Lizzy her wallet back and said nothing.

"You know, you could have made the same analogy with the piano," Fitz remarked dryly.

"Yeah," said Lizzy, wrinkling her nose, "but who really practices the piano anymore?"

Fitz looked down at his hands roaming over the keys. "Apparently, I do."

"I guess that make you a little weird," said Lizzy grinning.

"I'm more than a little weird, kiddo," admitted Fitz.

Will glowered down at them both.

"Mr. Darcy, stop _pouting_," said Lizzy exasperated. "If you're pissed, just talk.—And don't try to use the can't-talk-to-strangers excuse again. This is the second big, old house we've been marooned in together. If we don't bond over this, we'll never get along."

Bent over the keys, Fitz snickered.

"You're making light of a very serious issue, Miss Bennet," said Will darkly.

"He's right," Fitz admitted. "The paparazzi _sucks_."

"Well, sure—but you're handling it all wrong," said Lizzy grinning. "If you make a scene, they're just going to make more money. What you need to do is get a watergun, one of those that look a lot like real pistols, and take aim at the cameras. It scares the shit out of them before they realize it's only water, _and_ the water on the lens ruins the shot."

Fitz laughed. "That's brilliant."

Will wasn't so pleased. "When have _you_ ever had to deal with the paparazzi?" he asked haughtily.

"In New York," said Lizzy.

Fitz smirked. "What? You were walking down 5th Avenue and they mistook you for Kate Winslet?"

"I wish," said Lizzy. "They were just bothering some of my more famous friends, so we super-soaked them."

At Fitz's surprised look, Will explained, "Miss Bennet was a model."

"_You_ were a model?" asked Fitz.

Lizzy's shoulders slumped in mock-aggravation. "You know if everyone keeps reacting that way, I'm going to start to get offended."

"You just don't strike me as the type to sit still and smile pretty for the camera," Fitz said.

"It was easy money," Lizzy said and shrugged. "But you're right; I hated it. I hated people always looking at me and caring what I looked like. I hated guys assuming that because I sold my picture, everything else was for sale too. I hate the whole industry. I sucked it up for two years and then I got out."

"I take it you don't plan to be a fashion photographer then," Fitz said with one raised red eyebrow.

"Not if I can help it," Lizzy said grinning, looking up. Will Darcy quickly looked away.

3.

Unfortunately, Rosings wasn't much better in the daytime: the outside looked like a clumsy cathedral with all of Collins's construction equipment marring the façade, and the inside was nearly as dark as it had been the night before, because no one cared enough to open the curtains. Lizzy wouldn't have been there, if Catherine de Bourgh hadn't told Lizzy at the end of the evening that she should come back the next day "to entertain my nephews." Plus, Charlotte wouldn't let Lizzy play hookie.

"Collins and I have to go work on the house," Charlotte had told her. "You'll just be bored here alone by yourself." That was certainly true; the Collins residence was even worse off than Rosings. The floorboards were rotting, the doorknobs were falling off the doors, and they didn't even have cable.

So, there Lizzy was, following the butler out to Rosings' backyard, where the de Bourgh bitch's nephews were trying out the newly installed pool.

Fitz whistled when he saw her. "Yeah, I can definitely see the modeling thing now."

Lizzy rolled her eyes. She was wearing the freshly-washed and de-spaghettied wrap-around sweater with heels and a skirt made out of antique silk scarves, _and_ she had spent a whole fifteen minutes with her makeup and hair. "I just didn't want to give your aunt a chance to look down on me again."

"That's no fun," said Fitz, treading water and squinting up at her. "I wanted to see how far you could push her. Maybe some scuffed-up sneakers at supper or something."

"_You_ wear the sneakers," said Lizzy. "I'll figure out another way to piss her off."

"You do know that she'll still complain if you wear the same thing at dinner as you were today, right?" Fitz asked.

"I've got another skirt in Charlotte's car, just in case," grinned Lizzy, taking a seat on some padded, leather lounge furniture. "I plan to escape before dinner, though.—Why the hell is this furniture _leather_? It's for outside."

Fitz grinned. "It's supposedly waterproof and mildew resistant."

"Collins picked it, didn't he?" Lizzy guessed, leaning back and crossing her ankles.

"I think so."

"Explains a lot," said Lizzy; she turned and caught Will watching her. Again. "_Yes_, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and waiting.

"You cut your hair," he said. She had—the day Lydia dragged her to the mall and all the mirrors told her that her hair needed shaping. The guy at Great Clips had shaped it all the way to her chin, three inches shorter than she'd asked.

"Yes, and you grew a goatie," Lizzy replied. "Bringing a little Sugar Ray into the B.F.D.?"

Fitz laughed and slapped Will on the back so hard that he sent a spray of pool water flying all around them. "See, I told you it looked stupid."

"Miss Bennet only commented on its existence, not on its appearance," Will said sharply, scowling at his bandmate.

"Just shave it," Lizzy advised. "Otherwise you'll spend all the air time on your next interview discussing the pros and cons of facial hair."

"Told you," Fitz said, smirking, and shoved his cousin under the water; Will came up sputtering and scowling.

Lizzy smiled and asked, "Hey, can either of you tell me why your aunt thought I needed protection?" The wind blew, drawing goosebumps on her arms under her sweater.

"Protection?" asked Will politely.

"Yeah—when I got here, she took one look at me and asked if I had protection and said that you two couldn't be bothered to keep track of it," Lizzy said, frowning quizzically. "Did she mean sunscreen? Because it's _March_; the sun's not that strong. Besides, it's cold out—Fitz, what's so funny?"

Fitz was leaning on Will's shoulders and laughing so hard that Lizzy worried he might choke on some of the water he was splashing up. "Will…" he gasped, still laughing. "Will, tell her."

"I refuse to tell her. The idea is vulgar and disgusting," said Will, pushing Fitz away and climbing up the ladder on the side of the pool. Lizzy glanced quickly away from the wet swimsuit clinging to the back of his legs. "Besides it'll only piss her off." He exited the patio by a glass door on Lizzy's right.

"What?" Lizzy asked Fitz. "What will piss me off?"

Fitz snorted grinning. "She meant condoms."

"_What_?" snapped Lizzy, sitting up straighter.

Fitz leaned forward and announced in a hushed voice, "She thinks you're a _groupie_."

Lizzy bounced to her feet, jaw dropped and wind whipping her hair around her face. "She thinks _what_?"

"She probably figured from the way you were hanging all over me last night," Fitz said, stretching his arms behind his head and lazily glancing at his biceps. "You can't control your—"

"Is that the only reason she made me come here?" growled Lizzy.

"Yeah, probably," said Fitz, nodding sagely.

Lizzy bent and ripped off her heels for easier movement. "Where is she?"

Fitz looked up. "Kiddo, I don't think—"

"_No_," Lizzy snapped, pointing one of her heel at him, "where _is_ she?"

"Uh…" Fitz said, and his gaze traveled behind her. When Lizzy turned to see what he was looking at, she found herself presented with a very wet, slightly pale, well-muscled chest. "Sit down," Will Darcy said sternly, pressing her shoulders until she sank back down onto the leather lounge chair. "You won't be able to do anything to change her." When Lizzy was seated, Will slung a thick canvas jacket around her shoulders, and at Lizzy's open-mouthed stare, he explained, "You said you were cold." Then, in a blur of nice chest, blue swimsuit, and long legs, he dove into the pool.

"I can't believe she thought I was a groupie," Lizzy muttered, pulling the grey material of the jacket tighter around her; it was way too big, but Lizzy just wished that it didn't smell so strongly of boy—really nice-smelling boy but _still_.

"Aww, look—Lizzy's blushing," Fitz said, grabbing his cousin around the neck and pulling him into a headlock. "Isn't she cute when she blushes?"

Instead of looking, Will wrestled his way out of Fitz's reach, growling "Let me alone." He dove below the surface of the water to put more distance between himself and his cousin.

"You two are no fun," Fitz sighed, putting his arms behind his head again and leaning against the side of the pool.

"Sorry I'm not fulfilling my groupie duties," Lizzy snapped. "I guess Mrs. de Bourgh should just throw me out now."

"Cool it, kiddo," Fitz said. "She's crazy, anyway."

"Miss Bennet, I am surprised that you are roaming the house taking pictures," Will said, as he climbed out of the pool again, his back gleaming in the early spring light. "I haven't even seen your camera."

"It's in my bag," Lizzy sighed, as Will grabbed a towel and started drying his hair. "I'm tried composing shots, but…" Lizzy sighed again. "Rosings is the first place I haven't wanted to photograph in a really long time."

"Butt ugly, isn't it?" said Fitz.

"It's shouldn't; it follows all the rules of aesthetics," said Lizzy. "I just thought that it had more to do with Collins."

"He killed it," said Will, taking a folder off the glass patio table and strolling over to fall in the chair next to Lizzy.

"He didn't _kill_ it, Will," Fitz said. "Houses aren't alive."

"But they have personality," Lizzy said, "and he's right. There's not any at Rosings; Collins ripped everything cool out and replaced it with fake. It's like a face with so much Botox in it that it can't even smile anymore."

"What's _with_ you and Botox?" Fitz asked, grabbing a floating bed and leaning on it.

"Her mother had it done," Will said, opening his folder.

"What the _fuck_, Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy said.

He turned to her, eyebrows slightly raised, and a smile crept up around his mouth. "I'm right, aren't I?"

He was. Botox had been Mrs. Bennet's Christmas present to herself, but Lizzy glared rather than admit that. After a moment, he turned back to the contents of his folder.

"Will, don't start work now," Fitz whined, using a blow-up, floating bed as a kickboard and splashing around. "Come back and play with me."

"No," said Will without looking up.

"Goody-goody," Fitz said scowling. "You get that from the British in you."

"There are as many scoundrels in England as in any other place," said Will, turning a page, and Lizzy snickered to hear the word _scoundrel _in a sentence.

"You then, kiddo," said Fitz. "Jump on in."

"No way," said Lizzy.

"Come on," Fitz said grinning. "It's heated."

"Sorry," Lizzy said.

"Damn," said Fitz gliding toward the shallow end. "I guess I have to get out then."

"Don't anything on my account," Will said dryly.

"Nah, Maggie'll give me shit if I don't get busy," Fitz said, hauling himself out of the pool and reaching for a towel.

"Maggie's his wife?" Lizzy asked Will.

"Yes," said Will tersely.

Lizzy snickered grinning.

"Okay, kiddo—what's so funny?" Fitz asked her.

"Maggie the manager," giggled Lizzy. "She could guest-star on Bob the Builder."

Fitz smirked. "_Bob the Builder_? Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke."

"It's a show that my little cousins watch," said Lizzy.

"Like Barney?" Fitz asked, making a face.

"Yeah, but Bob the Builder ranks a few notches higher than Barney," Lizzy said.

"Are you a kid's show connoisseur?" asked Will with a sharp frown.

"Nope, just trying to help Fitz out," Lizzy said. "He's going to have to know all this since he's going to be a Dad soon."

"No kid of mine's going to watch Bob the Burnout or any of that shit," Fitz grumbled, but the word Dad had brought a smile to his face.

"Hey, Lizzy," said Fitz, before Lizzy could retort. "You got work to do?"

Lizzy folded her arms and sat back, scowling. "No."

"Liar," Fitz said and chuckled.

"I really, _really _don't want to do it," Lizzy complained, but she reached in her bag and pulled out a book—_Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology Among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania_.

"Is that for class?" Fitz asked.

Lizzy nodded. "Anthropology of Genocide."

Fitz made a face. "Grim."

"_Interesting_," corrected Lizzy. "It's all about the dehumanization of the Other in order to—"

"Stop procrastinating," said Will.

"Yes, Mom," said Fitz meekly, and Lizzy laughed. For a few minutes, all three of them read silently. Then, Fitz looked up from a spread of potential album covers and said, "I can't make a decision."

Will scowled. "You haven't even tried."

"Well, you and Maggie always end up making the decision anyway," Fitz said.

Will flipped a page. "Read the screenplay then."

Fitz made a face. "I tried. It's crap."

"Of course, but we still have to read it," Will said.

"Why?" asked Lizzy.

"Aunt Catty thinks it's time we debuted in Hollywood," said Fitz.

"Don't do it," said Lizzy. "You'll be joining the ranks of Britney Spears and Hilary Duff."

"And Elvis!" Fitz said indignantly. "And Frank Sinatra!"

"Don't do it," advised Lizzy sternly.

"We still must read the screenplay, regardless of our decision," Will told his cousin.

"You wanna read it, kiddo?" Fitz asked Lizzy.

"_Fitz,_" warned Will.

"You wanna read about the Burundian refugee camps in Tanzania?" Lizzy asked surprised.

"Sure, we'll switch," Fitz said.

"All right," cheered Lizzy, and the book and folder changed hands.

"Maggie will know," Will threatened.

"I'm on Panel 20," Lizzy told Fitz.

"Panel? You mean it has pictures?" said Fitz, flipping through pages.

Lizzy laughed. "You wish."

They spent a few more minutes in silence. Will and Lizzy were reading, but Fitz had taken Lizzy's pen and was doodling in the margins. When he was done, he jabbed Lizzy in the foot, saying "Look!" It was a girl stick figure in heels and a cape; underneath was the label SUPERMODEL.

Lizzy smiled. "I wasn't a supermodel."

"No, _Super_model," Fitz corrected. "Like Superman, but prettier. Fighting lechery and fashion fuck-ups everywhere."

Lizzy laughed.

"How's the screenplay?" Fitz asked.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "Terrible."

"Told you," said Fitz.

"It's about you, isn't it?" Lizzy guessed. "You and Maggie? The love story of a rock star and his manager?"

"Yeah, that's why the studio offered it to us first—to keep us from suing," said Fitz. "But I want you to know I never said, 'Your eyes are like two deep mountains.'"

Lizzy grinned. "I don't think I've gotten there yet."

"You've been spared," said Fitz. "Put the screenplay down and get out while you still can."

Lizzy turned a page with a rebellious grin. "Maybe it'll get better."

"Will, you're near the end. Does it get any better?" Fitz asked, and when Will didn't reply, Fitz told Lizzy, "That means no."

"You two are forgetting one very important thing," Will said shortly.

To Lizzy, Fitz whispered, "Fasten your seatbelts, kiddo. We're in for a guilt trip."

"By all means, enlighten us, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said, smirking.

Scowling, Will said, "Someone worked very _hard_ on this screenplay."

Fitz raised two fists in the air. "Called it."

Will flipped to the title page and found the name of the screenwriter. "One Melanie Rosebud."

"Well, that's a pen name if I ever heard one," commented Fitz.

"Pen name or not, this is the labor of much blood, sweat—" started Will.

"Don't give us that shit, Mr. Darcy," said Lizzy. "This is a cookie-cutter romantic comedy: Girl meets Boy, Girl and Boy fight, revelation of oh-my-God-I-can't-be-with-you secret, and a Big Kiss finale. Throw in a little rock star glam into the mix, and you've got yourself a success at the Box Office. If you pick your opening weekend right," Lizzy added as an afterthought.

"Why'd they have to make the love interest into the lead singer?" Fitz grumbled. "The drummers always get shafted."

Will glanced up from a stack of potential album covers. "The demise of the shiftless clown, who draws cartoons and passes off his work rather than do it himself—"

"Mr. Darcy, who died and made you Asshole-of-the-Month?" Lizzy said sharply.

"It's fine, kiddo," said Fitz.

"It's _true_," Will told Lizzy.

"Well, you—" Lizzy snapped.

"What would you like me to say?" said Will with a lot more temper than Lizzy had seen from him in months. "_He_ won't work, so we can't finish this and I don't want to be here."

"Well, _that's_ not obvious," said Lizzy grinning. "So you haven't managed to go back to England yet?"

Will scowled. "They keep throwing one bloody thing after another at us, and I just want to bloody well go _home_."

"Then _go_," said Lizzy. "You're a grown man. There is nothing stopping you from taking the next plane to London or wherever."

"I told you; the paparazzi—"

"Get over it; if the Darlington-Darcy deal is such a problem, just _tell_ people. All of this is _your_ doing, so stop whining," snapped Lizzy.

Will looked thoughtful, eyebrows raised and jaw slackened.

"Wanna borrow my cell?" Fitz asked Will.

"I have my own. Thanks," Will said in my much more pleasant tone than usual. He reached toward Lizzy, who jumped away, but Will just stuck his hand inside the pocket of the canvas jacket she was wearing and drew out a flip phone. He was half-smiling when he stood and walked to the other side of the pool.

"What's he doing _now_?" Lizzy asked suspiciously.

"Getting reception. You get more bars over there," Fitz said, but when Lizzy gave him an exasperated look, he added, "He's calling his travel agent."

"You're kidding," Lizzy said.

Fitz grinned. "No."

"None of that ever occurred to him before?" Lizzy asked.

"Will's very dutiful. He takes himself for guilt trips everyday," Fitz explained.

Lizzy stared at him over the width of the pool, examining the shining dark hair, the long legs, lean stomach, and the scowl that was slightly lessened now that he was booking a flight over the Atlantic. "He's the most ridiculous person I've ever met."

Fitz laughed. "More ridiculous than Collins?"

"Yeah, because Collins can't fake people out the way that one does," Lizzy said, pointing at Will. "Everybody thinks Dar's just cool and moody."

"You know what would make him just piss himself with joy?" said Fitz with a grin. "Us picking out an album cover before he gets back."

Lizzy wasn't sure if she wanted to make Will Darcy piss himself, but going through proposed album covers was way more interesting than _Purity and Exile_. "Looks like he's on hold, so we have some time," Lizzy commented. She pulled out the stack and shuffled them like cards. "We've got our choices, huh?"

"Twelve; it's Maggie's luck number," Fitz explained, taking one from her—an Andy Warhol style print with each face of B.F.D. in a every brightly-colored square, leaving the last square for the band name and the album's title, _Love and Other Accidents_.

"Maybe we can narrow it down some," suggested Lizzy. "What kind of poems are you guys singing this time?"

Fitz raised one red brow. "We are not authorized to reveal that information to the public, Miss Bennet. Suffice it to say that we hope to have the album in stores by August 12—"

"_Fine_, stop parroting your aunt already," Lizzy grumbled. Pointing to the Andy Warhol-esque cover, Lizzy added, "Not that one."

"It's quirky and original," Fitz said.

"I hate to break it to you, but it's kind of been done," Lizzy told him.

"By who?"

"The Dandy Warhols," Lizzy said.

"You made that up," Fitz protested.

"Did not," said Lizzy. "Google it if you don't believe me."

"Then how 'bout this one?" Fitz asked, showing her another. Lizzy snorted, and Fitz said, "What? What's wrong with this one?"

"It's just a bunch of blue squiggles," Lizzy said laughing.

"It's _cool_," Fitz said.

"Trust me," said Lizzy grinning. "In a few years, your toddler's going to produce squiggles that'll impress you a lot more." (Lizzy smiled to see the word _toddler_ brought a grin to Fitz's face.)

"This one?" asked Fitz, presenting Lizzy with a portrait shot of Fitz, Bing, and Dar sitting on stools and looking into the camera. Above their heads, _Love and Other Accidents B.F.D._ was written in script.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"Come on. It's classic," Fitz protested.

"It's _boring_," Lizzy said. "Anybody flipping through the CD section at Borders is just going to pass that one by. Besides, it doesn't show any of your personalities, except for maybe your various tolerance levels for photo shoots."

"Yeah, look how pissed off Will looks," Fitz said, tapping his cousin's face on the photograph.

"Better watch out," said Lizzy. "He'll scare off all your real groupies."

"I've been trying to do that for ages," Will said. Lizzy jumped at his reappearance, and Will grinned and sat back down. He'd put on a shirt (which Lizzy thought was a shame), but the smile made up for it (Lizzy decided it made for a nice change). "I'd like to hear any suggestions you have in that regard."

"Aww, Will—you know your asshole demeanor only makes you more mysterious and alluring," Fitz said, slinging an arm around his cousin's shoulders.

Will didn't see fit to honor this with an answer, but at least he was still smiling. "Have you made a decision yet?" he asked.

"Nah," said Fitz.

"This one," said Lizzy, slapping one down, the one with the black background with white cut-outs of all three band members in profile.

"When the hell did we decide this?" Fitz asked laughing.

"Just now," Lizzy said. "It's simple and distinctive, and it kind of has a neo-cameo look to it, which ties into the mostly 19th Century Lit that you have going in this album."

"Fitz," Will scolded, much more good naturedly than usual, "you're not supposed to hand out our song list."

"He didn't," Lizzy said grinning and pulling a sheet of paper from the folder. "I asked, he refused, and then I found them all nicely printed out on this page." Will took it from her and placed it face down on the top of his folder. "That's not going to do any good. I've already seen it," Lizzy said. "Good choice on the Walt Whitman by the way, but 'She Walks in Beauty Like the Night'?—so cliché."

Fitz was still looking at the silhouettes on the album cover. "Can you even tell who's who?"

"Yeah," said Lizzy; she tapped the figure on the far left. "That's you."

"That's easy," said Fitz, patting his distinctive crest of red hair.

"Yes, I believe the drumsticks quite give it away," agreed Will.

"This is Charlie," said Lizzy, tapping the one in the middle.

"The short one," said Fitz.

"Yeah, and he's also kind of hunched over," said Lizzy.

"Charlie's always had bad posture," Will said.

"Yeah, you're always giving him grief about it too," Fitz reminded him.

"This one's you," Lizzy told Will, holding her finger over the one on the far right.

"By process of elimination," Will agreed.

"That, and you're the angry one," said Lizzy laughing. "Look at how far your chin's jutting out."

Fitz laughed too, and Will said stiffly, "It was a rather long shoot."

Lizzy shook her head, snickering. "You guys need to use better photographers if poor Mr. Darcy can't endure those 'rather long' shoots. The best ones know exactly what they want and can get you in and out of there in an hour. Or they at least give you a break and let you move around some."

"You know, kiddo—you're pretty good yourself," Fitz said. "If you ever needed any help or wanted me to put a call in—"

"No," said Lizzy flatly.

"I'm just saying—" Fitz started.

"I believe Miss Bennet wishes to succeed on her own," Will explained with a small smile.

"Oh," Fitz said. "One of _those_ types."

"Besides, I already have my own contacts," Lizzy said.

"Who?" said Fitz.

"Diana Gardiner," said Lizzy.

"The head of the Keefe-Moore Agency?" Fitz sputtered. "That's one of the biggest modeling agencies in the country."

"I know," said Lizzy smugly.

"I thought she was your agent," Will said.

"She was…five years ago, when she was affordable," Lizzy said, wondering how he knew that.

"Diana Gardiner was your agent?" Fitz repeated. "She's tough. You should've seen the trouble she gave Maggie."

"She probably thought Mrs. de Bourgh was trying to swindle her and was probably right," Lizzy said, "but if she gives you trouble again, give me a call. She owes me a favor." Lizzy grinned. "I introduced her to her husband."

"Diana Gardiner got married?" Fitz said.

"She is _Mrs_. Diana Gardiner," Will pointed out.

"But who'd want her?" Fitz asked, mouth gaping.

"Uh, my _uncle_," said Lizzy. "Accidental Wall Street tycoon, and resident black sheep of my mom's family. They're my favorite relatives."

"_Shit_," said Fitz, and luckily, the sound of congo drums interrupted the awkward silence that followed. Lizzy jumped and looked wildly around.

"You're so jumpy," said Fitz, as he got up and walked away. "It's just my cell phone." He picked it up off the tabletop and answered it. "Hel_lo_, Fitz here; how can I be of service?" He was grinning as he walked over to the other side of the pool. "Well, I'm not doing much, just sitting out here poolside, surrounded by beautiful women." He paused for a second, listening, and laughed.

"You think that's Maggie?" Lizzy asked Will.

"Yes."

"_All you need is love!"_ shouted Fitz loudly into the phone; Lizzy laughed in surprise. _"I was made for loving you baby; you were made for loving me…Just one night; give me just one night."_

For a moment, Lizzy didn't know why Fitz's yelling sounded so familiar until he got to "_We can be heroes…just for one day";_ when she figured it out, she laughed again. "Is he going to go through Moulin Rouge's 'Elephant Love Medley'?"

Will grimaced. "Probably. It's a ritual of theirs."

"_We should be lovers, and that's a fact!"_ Fitz said.

"_Aww._"

"It's not _aww_ if you've already heard it eight hundred times before," Will told her. "And he's got a voice like an elephant."

"Don't be such a snob; not all of us have voices like yours," Lizzy said. "Besides, it doesn't matter. There's not a girl in the world that doesn't have a secret dream of being sung to." Lizzy thought of Jane, and her smile became ironic, but Lizzy refused to be unhappy when she was on vacation. "Remember that for when you fall in love, Mr. Darcy. With your voice, you've got it made." Lizzy grinned, as Fitz threw his fist in the air with enthusiasm. "You know," she told Will, "I like him."

Will glanced at his cousin, who was busy telling his wife, _"We could be heroes, for ever and ever!"_

"He's married," Will told her flatly.

"Well, _duh_, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said grinning. "That's probably why I like him. His sarcasm might get on my nerves if he didn't love his wife so much. After Collins and Charlotte, it's nice to see..." Lizzy couldn't finish her sentence, because what could she say? A functional relationship? A happy ending?

Will was silent for so long that Lizzy glanced over to see his reaction. She found he was watching her with such a steady stare that her breath caught in her throat.

"Lizzy!" called Fitz, walking around the pool. "Hey, the little missus wants to talk to you."

"Sure," said Lizzy, smiling and flattered.

Fitz said into the phone, "Hold on, Mags. I'm going to put you on speakerphone."

He sat down on the end of Lizzy's lounge chair again and held the phone between them. It beeped and a voice said, "Hello? Am I on?"

"Yeah, Mags; you're on," said Fitz.

Maggie Fitzwilliam's voice crackled through the bad reception, but she sounded still sharp and lively to Lizzy. "Great, so where's the non-groupie?"

"Here," said Lizzy, leaning toward the phone. "I'm Lizzy. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Lizzy. I'm Maggie," the phone said. "Don't worry about Mrs. de Bourgh. If she doesn't meet you in a suit, she assumes you don't value yourself. Besides, you don't sound like a groupie."

Lizzy grinned. "Thanks. Have you known a lot of groupies then?"

"A few," said Maggie. "Fitz had a groupie problem back in the day."

"_Maggie!_" Fitz cried, putting his hand to his cheek and managing to look scandalized.

"Well, you did," Maggie said. "A new girl in every city, and _God_, they were annoying."

"Mags, you know I always had a soft spot in my heart for you," Fitz said, grinning.

"Good thing I scared them all off then," Maggie said smugly.

"She threw a tantrum in Charlotte, North Carolina," Fitz explained to Lizzy. "I had all these girls around me, and she cusses them out, climbs on my lap, and kisses me hard."

"They were offering you drugs," Maggie protested, "and nobody gives drugs to my band members when I'm around. Kissing you was the easiest way to distract you."

"We've been together ever since, kiddo," Fitz told Lizzy.

"Hey, he called you _kiddo_," said Maggie delighted. "He doesn't do that unless he really likes a girl and doesn't want me to get jealous."

Lizzy beamed, and Fitz said, "Mags, you know how much I love it when you get all possessive."

"Yeah? Well, if I hear from Lizzy that you've been misbehaving, I'll show you a side of possessive that you _don't_ like," said Maggie, and Fitz looked so brow-beaten that Lizzy laughed. "Lizzy, you have a nice laugh. I like you already. Now, tell me: is my husband behaving himself?"

"Yes," said Lizzy, at the same time that Will said, "No."

"Who's that?" said Maggie. "Will? Have you been there all this time?"

"Yes," said Will.

"You're so _quiet_," Maggie scolded.

"Can't get a word in edgewise," said Will dryly.

"Neither can Lizzy, I bet," said Maggie. "Okay, Lizzy—next question: Has Fitz been doing his work?"

"Yeah," said Lizzy smiling. "He's picked an album cover and everything."

"The black one," said Fitz. "With the people—the cut out people in white—"

"Number 8," said Will half-exasperated.

"Shit, there are numbers on them?" Fitz asked, turning one over. "Where?"

"Bottom right-hand corner, Fitz," Maggie said. "Yeah, I like that one, too. Will, what's your take?"

"Yes," Will said, looking at Lizzy, "that's the one."

"Lovely," trilled Maggie, sounding more like Catherine de Bourgh than Lizzy guessed the assistant manager suspected. "I'll make that call next. Oh, _ow._ Ow-ow-ow."

"What is it?" Fitz said, clutching at the phone. "Is it contractions?"

"No, just a papercut," Maggie said. "So, what'd you think of the screenplay?"

"Pissed me off so much that I had to stop after the fifth page," said Fitz.

"It's 'cause they made you into a singer, right?" asked Maggie.

"Drummers always get shafted," Fitz grumbled.

"I know, honey," said Maggie, and Lizzy heard the smile in her voice. "Don't read it; go ahead and spare yourself."

"Motherhood is making you soft, Maggie," Will said.

"Shut up, Will," Maggie said sweetly. "You're just pissed because you've already finished it." Will frowned, and Lizzy grinned, guessing that Maggie kept the tour bus _very_ well-run. "Well, I finished it too, and I think I have enough to call that studio and let them think lawsuit."

"Is this normal?" Lizzy asked.

"Depends on your definition of normal," said Fitz grinning, "because Mags is like this all the time."

"Well," said Maggie slightly mollified, "it doesn't exactly happen _often_, and I never actually mention the word _sue_—"

"No, I meant with the screenplay and album covers," said Lizzy. "Most musicians kind of shunt those responsibilities to their agent or someone, right?"

"Yeah, but Will played hardball on the signing table," said Maggie. "He wouldn't sign anything that didn't give him complete artistic freedom. He also bargained a lot of the percent revenue into B.F.D.'s favor. Frankly, I don't know how he got signed in the first place.

"Brilliant business sense," said Will.

"You were damn lucky, and don't you forget it," Maggie said sternly. "Anyway, the doctor told me to keep off my feet, so I'm sitting like a beached whale here and bored out of my mind. What's going on over there?"

Fitz grinned. "Will decided he's going to hold a press conference and come clean about his British roots."

"_What_?" Maggie yelped, and Fitz laughed.

"It isn't true, Maggie," Will said quietly.

"_Fitz_," Lizzy snapped. "What are you trying to do? Induce labor three weeks early?" Fitz was still laughing. "I seriously almost peed in my pants."

"I am going back to England on Saturday, though," Will told Maggie.

"_Finally_," Maggie replied. "It's about time you stopped moping and booked yourself a flight."

"You shouldn't hold a press conference anyway," said Lizzy with a grin. "Wait for a talk show, where the host is needling you about something you don't want to talk about. Switch to a British accent suddenly, and I guarantee you'll distract them."

"That's awesome," said Fitz laughing. "And Will, you owe me by the way. Those pictures of me and Mags in our undies, remember?"

"_Charlie_ owes you," said Will. "That was his idea, not mine."

"Wait a minute," Maggie said sharply. "Who told Lizzy that Will's British?"

"Nobody," said Lizzy. "He mentioned Pemberley, so I looked it up on the internet."

"I didn't say a thing about Pemberley," said Will. "That was bloody Caroline."

"God, that Caroline can't keep a secret to save her life," said Maggie irritably. "Is she there? I need to talk to her."

"She's not here," Fitz said.

"This was at Netherfield," Lizzy explained. "At Vickroot. That's where we met."

"Oh," said Maggie knowingly, "so you two have _his_tory."

"That isn't where I met you," Will told Lizzy.

"Well, I guess there was the Harvest Ball," said Lizzy slowly, "but I wouldn't call that meeting so much as me yelling at you."

"I met you this summer," Will reminded her. "In my dressing room. After a concert."

"Oh, so you went to one of B.F.D.'s concerts?" said Maggie. "I like you even better."

"You went to Will's dressing room?" asked Fitz. "I thought you said you weren't a groupie."

"I'm not, but _he_ thought I was," Lizzy said, pointing at Will and scowling. "What is it with you and your family and me being take for a groupie?"

"Hey," said Fitz, "when did I ever call you a groupie?"

"Okay, honey, you _just_ did," Maggie said.

"Damn," said Fitz sheepishly.

"What were you doing in Will's dressing room?" Maggie asked.

"Throwing up," said Lizzy simply. "I'd eaten some sketchy shrimp before the concert so I spent the whole second set emptying my stomach. My drunk sister found a door behind a poster, and the room attached to it had a toilet in it. So she left me there, and then this guy shows up and starts saying stuff about security."

"I would like to point out that Miss Bennet didn't recognize me," Will said, but he was smiling.

"I'm not seeing how that's worse than you calling me a drunk groupie," Lizzy said.

"The evidence suggested—" Will started.

"I _told_ you the truth," Lizzy reminded him. "You still wanted to call security, but luckily, you didn't find your cell phone. So, I started telling you what I thought of the concert—"

"You _trashed_ it," Will said.

"I _did_ not," Lizzy said. "I admit, I said some negative things, but—"

"Wait, you're _that_ groupie?" Fitz said and laughed.

"This explains so much," Maggie said.

"I'm _not_ a groupie," Lizzy said sternly.

"No, kiddo, do me a favor and open Will's wallet," Fitz said. "It should be in the left inside pocket of that jacket you're wearing."

"Whoa, she's wearing Will's jacket?" Maggie asked.

"Um, _no_," Lizzy told Fitz quizzically, but Will seemed to understand what Fitz was after and reached toward the jacket and Lizzy. Lizzy shrank away, and Fitz grabbed Will's hand and twisted it behind his back.

"_Ouch_, Fitz," Will snapped. "Let me go."

"Go ahead, Lizzy," Fitz told her.

"No, _don't_," Will said, reaching for Lizzy with his other hand.

"I won't; it's not mine," Lizzy said stubbornly.

"Fine, _I'll_ do it," Fitz said, and catching Will offguard, he shoved his cousin in the pool, shirt on and all. As Will came up, cursing for air and sputtering, Fitz reached into the jacket, pulled out the wallet, and retrieved a piece of folded paper—dirty at the edges and torn at the creases—which he tossed in Lizzy's lap.

Lizzy knew she really shouldn't look, but curiosity got the better of her.

"Is she reading it?" asked Maggie excitedly.

"She's opening it, Mags; give her time."

_Young woman, early twenties, in dressing room. Puking. Either drunk or violently ill. Might have been attractive, if her smeared makeup didn't make her look garish. Might have been a groupie if she wasn't so intelligent. _

_She had this to say about our concert:_

_-mocked our name; said she thought B.F.D. stood for Big, Fat Dumbass (mature woman, this groupie)._

_-The second album exploits the literature-as-lyrics notions a bit too much (nothing I haven't thought of myself)_

_-"Play On" should be rewritten. Something tragic, rather than a dancing tune. (Would Aunt Catherine even allow us to try the same song twice?)_

-_On "Fire and Ice: "The second album just doesn't seem to feel as much as the first one did. I mean, 'Fire and Ice'—I know everyone says this and I enjoyed the jovial secrecy of 'Listener' as much as everyone else, but I _needed_ to hear 'Fire and Ice.' I'm not the only one, I know; they call it the 9-11 anthem, but I was in New York when it happened. I'd been in the World Trade Center the day before; my roommate had gone there that morning. She hadn't actually gone in; she was about to but then the plane crashed into it, and then she couldn't get back. I called her over and over again; she hadn't charged her cell phone, but I didn't know that. I spent the whole day running to the roof to get a better look and running back to my apartment to see if she had come back. The whole day was waiting and watching and being so helpless and bewildered that things could never be the same; even when she came home, covered in dust, we just held each other and cried. You aren't the same after that; none of us were. _

"_So, when 'Fire and Ice' came out, just a week later—with a lone a cappella voice singing, _Some say the world will end in fire,_ something in us all clenched. When Bing joins in, you're remembering those moments when you were reaching for each other, and during the round, that beautiful crescendo of a round, you've got those disjointed moments of searching for meaning or unity or something and coming up short—_I think I know enough of hate._ And then, there's the anger of the next couple rounds—where Dar is just so angry, he's got that open-eyed rage that we all knew we'd feel—_and if it had to perish twice_, and then, there's Bing, echoing him—a little more gently, a little more cynically. Then, there's the end—where the guitar solo has calmed us down, Dar mourns for us once again, it's just… _

"_I think we needed that song, or a song like it. We needed something to remind us to feel. I was just angry for a long, long time. I hadn't heard the song; they released it on the internet. I hadn't had a computer then, so I hadn't heard it. My sister burned it and sent it to me, and when I listened to it, I…couldn't help but feel what happened all over again. I needed to feel that, I think; I needed to remember."_

"But what is this?" Lizzy said uncertainly. "It's all true, but how did you get this?" Lizzy asked Will, who pulled off his wet shirt roughly and dove under the water.

"That's what you said to him that night," Maggie said, and the grin was back in her voice.

"Did I?" asked Lizzy.

"You don't remember?" Fitz said.

Lizzy shrugged. "I was pretty sick. I think I tried to block it out."

"Will wrote it all down when he got back on the tour bus," Maggie said. "It seemed like he got it word-for-word."

Fitz picked the paper out of Lizzy's hands. "Will said this is what keeps him in show business."

"Will did _not _say that," Maggie said. "He just reads it whenever he's had a terrible day."

"But why?' asked Lizzy.

"Come _on_, kiddo," Fitz said grinning.

"What's Will doing now?" Maggie asked.

"Laps. Freestyle," Fitz said,

"He's probably blushing like crazy, too," said Maggie. "Honestly, I don't know if his emotional maturity got stunted at five or fifteen, but most of the time, he's just like an awkward little boy."

Lizzy watched Will tear through the water, sending up spray down the length of the pool, stopping with a flip turn, and starting over again.

"What's Lizzy doing?" Maggie asked.

Fitz grinned. "Blushing like crazy."

Lizzy turned to glare at him. "Aww, she's so cute," Fitz said, grabbing her around the head and pulling her into his chest for a hug. Lizzy fought for her freedom, but Fitz was stronger than he let on. "Maggie, can we keep her?"

"I think we need to work on this baby first; then we can adopt more if you want," Maggie said. "I can only handle one kid at a time."

"Mags, I miss you," Fitz said.

"I miss you, too."

"No, I miss you more—"

"No, I miss _you_ more—"

As Fitz and Maggie argued about how much they missed each other, Lizzy watched Will swim back and forth in the pool, the worn page of her thoughtless words and his neat handwriting in her hands. It occurred to her with a little guilt and some remorse that she didn't know the one called Dar at all. She would've never thought him capable of this.

5.

Lizzy found the perfect excuse to skip a trip to Rosings the next day: she caught a cold. At dinner—between the appetizer course and the soup course, she developed a cough; just before the entrée was served, Lizzy excused herself and walked the half-mile down the driveway back to the Collinses' carriage house. By the next morning, she was feverish and could announce that she wouldn't be going to Rosings.

Charlotte pressed her hand against Lizzy's forehead, and Lizzy could feel the cool metal of her friend's wedding ring. "Well, it's no wonder," Charlotte muttered. "Those boys kept you outside in the cold for _hours_ yesterday. I don't know why you didn't tell them that you needed to go inside and get warm."

"I didn't feel cold at the time," Lizzy grumbled and coughed into her fist.

"Sure, she says—just as she hacks up a lung," Charlotte said, but her frown was concerned.

"_Charlotte!"_ cried Mr. Collins from the front entryway; he had his coat and Charlotte's over his arm. "Darling, we really _must_ go. They're set to deliver the marble statues of Artemis and Apollo at 9 o'clock. Beautiful pieces; $6000 each, worth every—" He continued muttering to himself, but Charlotte told Lizzy, "I don't want to leave you."

"You just don't want to go," Lizzy replied. "I'll be fine. I'll just finish off your orange juice and sleep all day."

"Charlotte dear, _really_—" Collins called.

"Coming!" Charlotte said. To Lizzy, she said, "Call me if you need _anything_, I mean it. I have my cell phone." She kissed Lizzy's cheek and was gone. Lizzy settled herself on the very cushy loveseat. She considered dipping into the Collinses' DVD collection, but the man of the house had a thing for Humprey Bogart and Lizzy wasn't in the mood to watch any tearjerkers, even if they were classics. She amused herself with her laptop, but she must've fallen asleep because the next thing she knew there was a man—dark-haired and very tall—looming over her.

She yelped and flailed around, her laptop sliding off her lap, and Will caught it with one hand and steadied Lizzy with the other. "Are you quite all right?" he asked.

"You _scared_ me," Lizzy said, and her voice was hoarse with sleep and sickness. "This couch is too small."

"You should be in bed," Will told her.

"This is much more cushy than that thing upstairs," Lizzy said. "What are you—" Lizzy started, but Will was frowning at the screen of Lizzy's laptop—at the window open to a pen-and-ink drawing of a teenage girl with spiky hair and unnaturally large eyes.

"You read Japanese comic books?" Will asked, a grin growing on his face. "You're _twenty-one_ years old."

"So? I'm sick," Lizzy said defensively. "I only read it when I'm sick."

Will was laughing; it was a warm laugh—kind of deep and booming, but Lizzy was pissed that the first time she'd ever heard it was when Will Darcy was laughing at _her_.

"Leave me alone," Lizzy snapped, snatching the laptop out of his hands and slapping it shut. Will blinked at her with such wide, dark eyes that she felt slightly guilty for being grumpy, but_ he_ was the one stupid enough to make fun of a sick person. Lizzy sighed and set her computer on the coffee table before walking off.

"Where are you going?" Will asked.

"Kitchen," said Lizzy gruffly. "Gonna get some orange juice."

"Where's your inhaler?"

Lizzy turned around and stared at him. "My what?"

"Inhaler," said Will, and his eyes were still wide. "For your asthma."

"It's in my pocket," Lizzy said frowning and sticking her hand down her pajama pocket to check. It was still there, but suddenly Lizzy was very self-conscious to be wearing black flannel pajamas in front of Will Darcy. Covered in hot pink polka dots, no less.

Lizzy hurried into the kitchen and was annoyed when Will followed. She was even more annoyed when Will stopped her from closing the refrigerator after she'd pulled out the orange juice and started to peruse its contents (after all, it wasn't _his_ house; he wasn't a guest _here_). She was more than a little miffed when he pulled out a can of ginger ale and opened it, but she was genuinely pissed off when he reached around her with an unnaturally long arm and poured the can of ginger ale into her orange juice she'd just poured herself.

"What are you _doing_?" Lizzy cried, horrified and staring at the glass of fizzing orange juice.

"When you mix orange juice and ginger ale, it tastes like Orangina," Will explained.

"But I didn't want Orangina; I wanted orange juice," Lizzy told him.

"It's good," Will told her.

"Why didn't you ask?" Lizzy said.

"Try it," Will encouraged.

"You didn't even say anything," Lizzy protested. "You just poured it right in there."

"_Try it_," Will said with a frown, sternly like she was a bratty child.

"_Fine_," Lizzy snapped and chugged down three big gulps, but some of it went down the wrong way and Lizzy had to put the glass down to cough. A lot. Because she was sick, it sounded a lot worse than it was.

Will handed her another glass, this one of plain water. "If you don't like it," Will said quietly, "I'll drink it, and you can have orange juice."

"I can't. We're out," said Lizzy hoarsely, tossing the Florida Natural carton in the trashcan under the sink. "Besides, it is good," she admitted grudgingly. "But you _still_ should've asked," she added quickly, but it was too late. Will was already looking smug again. Lizzy rolled her eyes and reluctantly took another sip of the ginger ale-orange juice mixture. She snuck a glance at her visitor, noticed he was watching her again, and quickly looked away. She adjusted her polka-dot pajamas primly and walked into the next room, one with three easels set up along the windows and various canvases leaning in stacks against the walls.

"What room is this?" said a voice behind her; Will Darcy had followed her again.

"Charlotte's studio," said Lizzy, going to the only stack of canvases covered with a tarp and peeling away the covering. "She was so excited when she showed me this. It's the only space that's entirely hers. You know, _A Room of One's Own_—the messed-up version. Collins isn't even allowed in here."

"Are _we_ allowed in here?" Will asked, eyeing the canvases Lizzy was browsing with distaste.

"Well, _I_ was invited already," said Lizzy, picking up the first painting—a landscape of a hill and a few trees—and examining it. "I'm still not sure what you're doing here, though. Besides, this is my best chance I'm going to get to come in here undetected."

"You're in danger of seeming a snoop, Miss Bennet," said Will stiffly from the doorway.

Lizzy turned to him, eyebrows raised and eyes steely. "Yes, I'm being nosy, Mr. Darcy," said Lizzy. "But if I'm a snoop, you're my accomplice. So, you might as well come over here; you can't see anything very well looking over my shoulder like you're trying to do now."

Will crossed the room, face blank. "What are we doing then?"

"Detective work," declared Lizzy, turning her head aside and coughing into her shoulder. "With a little bit of psychoanalysis thrown in.—When Charlotte showed off this room earlier, this was the only stack of paintings she didn't show me. When I asked to see her recent work, she showed me one of those over there. Funny thing though, I remembered wrapping up that painting for shipping when Jane and I were helping her move."

"So, you believe that this is what she's done here at Rosings?" Will asked, looking over a still life of three red apples in a wooden bowl.

"Yep."

"They're terrible," said Will.

"They're not _terrible_," said Lizzy irritably. "It's been a while since you've run around in circles with just amateurs, and you've gotten snotty. Charlotte's got a lot of potential for a young artist. Here," Lizzy said, putting down the landscape and picking up a painting from another stack. It was a three-quarter portrait of Jane, smiling her hesitant smile. "_This_ is one of Charlotte's better pieces. She's got a fantastic sense of color; look at all the highlights she found in Jane's hair. And the boldness of her lines is really distinctive."

Lizzy sighed and set the painting back down on the top of its pile. "The problem's not with her talent," Lizzy told Will. "It's with Rosings. Working with Mrs. de Bourgh and Collins would be bad enough, but—I'm not sure, but Rosings itself is—"

"Dead," Will said again. "He killed it."

Lizzy looked at him appraisingly and then nodded with a small smile. "Yeah," said Lizzy softly. She coughed twice into her fist. "Well, I've seen what I wanted to see," Lizzy said, taking the still life from Will and replacing it; she covered that stack again carefully with the tarp. "When Charlotte gets over herself and admits this wasn't a great idea she thought it was, I'll just tell her to cut tail and run. I just hope it's soon."

She sighed and looked at Will, who was examining the painting-in-progress on the middle easel, a portrait of a young woman, tired and frowning with her brown, wavy hair blowing across her face. "Yeah, Charlotte started that the day I got here," Lizzy said. "It's better than some of the others, but I don't know who it is."

"It's you," said Will.

"No…" said Lizzy disbelievingly, examining the portrait again. "I don't look anything like that."

"You do, when you're sad," Will said quietly, and he was staring at Lizzy in a way that scared her, not frowning exactly but like he expected something from her. He took a step toward her, and Lizzy stiffened. "I—" Will started.

Both of them heard the lock turn and the door opened, and a second later, Charlotte called, "Lizzy! Where are you? I pretended I forgot something, so I could come back and check on you."

By the time Charlotte finished her last sentence, Lizzy and Will were back in the kitchen, the door to the studio firmly closed behind them. "We're in here," Lizzy called, her voice cracking. Then she had another coughing fit.

"_We?_" said Charlotte, walking into the room. When she spotted Will, her mouth fell open in surprise.

Will nodded tersely. "Good day, Mrs. Collins." He grabbed his coat—the same canvas one Lizzy had been wearing yesterday—and shrugged it on. "Goodbye, Miss Bennet," he said to Lizzy and left the room.

When they heard the door close behind him, Charlotte asked, "Lizzy, what'd you _do_ to him?"

"Nothing," Lizzy said and took another sip of her Orangina mixture. "At least I don't think I did anything. Maybe he's just weird."

"Maybe he's in love with you," said Charlotte thoughtfully.

Lizzy laughed, but the laugh turned into a cough, one so bad that Lizzy almost reached for her inhaler.

"You sound shitty," said Charlotte, opening her cabinet and reaching for the Benadryl. "Let's get some cough medicine in you, okay?"

6.

Lizzy didn't remember much of the rest of the day; it passed in a haze of cough syrup, manga, and sleep. She hadn't realized she'd slept away the night and half the morning, until her cell phone rang on the nightstand right beside her bed. Lizzy jumped awake, looked around wildly, tried to remember where she was, noticed the phone, and reached for it. She flipped open, pressed it to her ear, and said, "Gahhh."

"Lizzy, you have to come home," said an angry voice. "Now."

"Wha—_Jane?"_ Lizzy pulled herself halfway into a sitting position. "What's wrong?"

"_Dad. _He's gone _insane_," Jane snapped. She hadn't sounded this lively for months, and Lizzy wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not. "You have to come back and get him under control."

"You're really pissed," Lizzy said, throwing off the covers and standing. "What'd he do? Ask out one of your med student friends?"

"_No_, he dumped me in the _shower_. And turned it _on_," Jane grumbled. "I was fully clothed. I got _soaked_."

"Umm…" Lizzy said, rubbing the sleep out if her eyes.

"I was just sleeping in," Jane said, and Lizzy made herself comfortable for the oncoming rant. "It's _Friday_—I don't have any classes; I'm _allowed_ to sleep in. But no, Dad had to bang on my door and _ordered_ me to get out of bed. _Ordered_ _me_, Lizzy—like I was seven again. He told me I'd pitied myself long enough, and he gave me until the count of three to get out of bed. Then, he actually _counted_, Lizzy."

Lizzy made a noise halfway between a snort and a gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"It's not _funny_," Jane snapped. "He physically lifted me out of bed, dragged me to the bathroom, and dropped me in the shower. Then he turned it on—the _cold_ water. _Then_ he told me I was being a selfish brat and that he expected better of me. Who the _hell_ does he think he is? He also said I had too much going for me to throw it all away because I got dumped. I didn't even actually _get_ dumped. You have to be dating to be dumped, so—" Jane drew a loud, shaky breath. "At least I was spared that."

"What did you say to _him_?" Lizzy asked softly.

"I don't know. Some pretty terrible stuff actually," Jane said guiltily. "Stuff about him leaving us and then just expecting to come back into our lives.—But you know what _else_ he said? He said that I had no right to sit around and mope and worry you so much when you were going crazy trying to figure out ways to help me. I mean, what the fuck? How _dare_ he use you to guilt-trip me like that."

"I _have_ been really worried about you," Lizzy admitted with her hand over her eyes.

Jane gasped, and Lizzy could picture her sister's wide, sorrowful eyes, her open mouth. "Lizzy, are you _crying_?"

"No," lied Lizzy, wiping her cheeks; she couldn't help it. Ben Bennet had done the only thing that Lizzy was unwilling to try in order to help Jane: to be cruel, to make Jane so angry that she snapped herself out of it. Lizzy decided her father deserved a big hug and kiss when she saw him next.

"Oh, Lizzy, I'm sorry," Jane said. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay," Lizzy sniffed, telling herself she was only emotional because she was a little sick.

"You should've said something," Jane told her, horrified at herself.

"I couldn't," Lizzy said.

Jane sighed. "Well, darn—I've been terrible, haven't I?" Lizzy shrugged, and then remembered that Jane couldn't see her. Jane giggled. "Poor Lydia. You should've _seen_ her face when Dad carried me screaming down the hall. I kind of wished I had a camera. She's doing fine, by the way," Jane told Lizzy. "She's spending a lot of time at Caribou. I think she's developed a crush on Jack."

Lizzy winced. "Great."

"It could be worse," said Jane. "_You_ could still be into him, and then we'd have all those jealousy issues."

"Yeah, that would suck," Lizzy agreed.

"How's Charlotte?"

"Blonde," Lizzy said, and Jane laughed.

After another half hour on the phone with Jane, a shower, three cups of coffee, and several cough drops, Lizzy couldn't find anything better to do, so she walked down to Rosings. Not to stay probably, but Charlotte had left her cell phone on the kitchen table and would probably need it.

When Lizzy asked to see Charlotte, the butler nodded and led her ceremoniously through the dark house to the poolroom, where Fitz was setting up another game.

"Hey!" Lizzy protested. "I came here to see Charlotte," she reminded the butler, but he'd already disappeared.

"Damn, kiddo," Fitz said, taking careful aim and breaking. "Not even a hello for me, before you run off to find someone else."

"Hey, Fitz," said Lizzy obligingly.

"You feeling better?" Fitz asked, walking around the table.

"Much. Thanks. I'm still coughing some, though."

"You like pool?"

"Yeah," Lizzy said grinning, "but I don't play. I just like watching the ball arrangement the game makes. If I'd known you were in here, I would've brought my camera."

Fitz grinned and bent for another shot. "That's weird, kiddo," said Fitz, taking aim again and shooting. "Damn! Missed."

Lizzy shrugged and glanced around the room pointedly. "I feel like we're missing one. Where's your cousin?"

"Will's upstairs sleeping," said Fitz.

"Lazy—it's almost noon," scoffed Lizzy, who suddenly remembered that she'd woken up at eleven.

"Give him a break, kiddo. He's been having trouble sleeping here," Fitz explained, lining up another shot and knocking two balls into the corner pocket. "Score!" he cheered, a fist in the air. "So, did you have fun with him yesterday? When he came to visit?"

Lizzy snorted. "He walks into Charlotte's house, he laughs at me, he ruins my orange juice, he follows me around, and then he leaves," Lizzy said, leaning against the pool table and pressing her chin into her cupped hands.

"He was worried about you."

Lizzy made a face. "He was not."

"Sure, he was," Fitz said with a smirk, practicing a shot twice before hitting it and knocking another ball into the side pocket. "He said you were asthmatic and shouldn't be left alone."

"Why didn't he just _say_ that?" Lizzy said.

"That's not his style," said Fitz. "He works the mysterious bit."

"The confusing bit," Lizzy corrected. "_Annoying_."

"Yeah, but don't be too hard on him, kiddo," Fitz said so lightly that Lizzy looked at him sharply, trying to guess what he was up to; he sank the 2-ball in the corner pocket. "Whether you ask him to or not, whether you _want _him to or not, he'll do anything in the world for you. For instance—you know Charlie?"

Lizzy crossed her arms and looked at the floor. "Yeah," said Lizzy, thinking of Jane. "I know Charlie."

"This fall, Charlie was in real danger of being taken for his money; there was this redhead," Fitz said, grinning across the pool table at Lizzy. "Charlie's always been a sucker for redheads."

Lizzy composed her expression carefully, lowering her eyes and tugging the corners of her mouth straight. "What did Will do?"

Fitz was still grinning, and Lizzy almost hated him for it. "_Step One:_ Remove friend from sticky situation. So, Will took Charlie out of the area took him skiing, I think. They do that deal in Montana every year. Then, he took Charlie back home to Boston." He aimed for a yellow ball, hit, and accidentally sunk the 8-ball. "_Shit_. Oh, well. Anyway, _Step Two: _Make Charlie aware of girl's intentions. It was tough, apparently. He had to enlist the help of Charlie's sisters, and of course, _they_ never let up. _Step Three: _Cut off all communication with said girl. Will took extra precautions this time. He even replaced Charlie's cell. Blocked the girl from online deals. Deleted her number—"

"Sounds creepy," said Lizzy sharply. "Sounds condescending and egotistical and idiotic."

Fitz shrugged. "It happens every few months. Charlie thinks he's found The One, and Will saves him."

Lizzy turned to Fitz, jaw set. "_Saves_ him? Is he even _happy_?" She watched Fitz's grin fade, as he slowly realized he'd said something very wrong.

She left. On the way out, she heard a male voice call, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet" and whirled, expecting Will Darcy. From the doorway of what might have once been a ballroom, Collins stumbled backwards at her glare. Charlotte steadied him absentmindedly with a firm hand on his shoulder, watching Lizzy. Mrs. de Bourgh used a chandelier catalogue to fan herself and said, "Miss Bennet, I don't know of other Elizas who_ storms_ down the halls of her hostess's house as if she owned it."

Lizzy rolled her eyes, pulled the cell phone out of her pocket, and tossed it to Charlotte. "You forgot this."

"Lizzy, what's wrong—" Charlotte started to say.

"You're leaving _already_?" said Mrs. de Bourgh with a disapproving frown. "Miss Eliza, I tolerated your illness yesterday, but I fear my nephews were very bored in your absence—"

"Then don't keep them under house arrest," snapped Lizzy. "Send them _home_."

Mrs. de Bourgh looked scandalized. "Miss Bennet, your task was—"

"Save it, lady," Lizzy said sharply. "I'm _not_ on your payroll." Lizzy took a brief satisfaction in seeing the fury on the de Bourgh bitch's face before she turned around and made her exit.

7.

There had been three times in Lizzy's life that she'd been so angry that she couldn't do _anything_. The first time was when she was seven, when she realized that her father's abandonment of her mother (which was understandable) also meant that he was abandoning Jane and Lizzy to be _raised_ by that mother. The second time was her eighteenth birthday, when she came back to her New York apartment early from a weekend with Jane and found her boyfriend Greg in bed with a model that Lizzy vaguely remembered from her last shoot. The third time came when Lizzy found out that Will Darcy had deliberately forced Charlie out of Vickroot and catapulted Jane into depression.

Lizzy sat in the Collinses' living room, perched on the tiny, cushy loveseat, and tried to figure out what she would do. Part of her was ready to march back to Rosings, track that Darcy down, and tear into him, but she'd already cried once that day. She felt like any other sort of confrontation would _also_ end in tears, and there was no way she was going to give that asshole the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

_Asshole_—that's what Will Darcy was. He wasn't the mysterious rock star with the tragic past, trapped in a double life; he wasn't the awkward, little boy that Maggie thought he was; he certainly wasn't the good and loyal friend that Fitz had made him out to be; he was just—

He was just standing in the middle of the room, Lizzy noticed with a start. And he was staring at her in the way she hated—all dark eyes and expectant intensity.

"Do you _normally_ walk into somebody else's house without even knocking?" Lizzy snapped. When he didn't answer, she snorted and looked away, trying to get her bearings. When she turned back, he was crossing the room in long-legged strides, and before she had time to widen her eyes in surprise, he was kissing her.

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy was _kissing_ her. With such passionate tenderness that Lizzy wasn't aware of anything else at first, and then she felt his knee kneeling near her hip and noticed his hands fluttering around her—brushing her face, her hair, her back, her wrists, her shoulders. They came to a rest on the back of the loveseat on either side of her head, bracing Will's weight as he leaned closer, trapping her in place; Lizzy made a muffled noise of protest. "Please," he whispered, so softly that Lizzy wasn't sure he'd heard it; then he kissed her neck and she really wasn't sure of anything. "I love you," he said and returned his mouth to hers.

Lizzy reacted, flailing so wildly that she hit Will Darcy in the face and fell to the floor. "What?" she cried, scooting away and scrambling to her feet. "You _what_?"

"I love you," repeated Will Darcy, standing over her. Lizzy watched his dark-eyed gaze roam over her face and stop at her mouth. "There's nothing for it. Despite your horrific mother, your questionable friends, your scheming sister, and your own difficult nature, I love you, and I'll have you despite what anyone says."

He was reaching for her again, but Lizzy shoved him back hard. "You'll _have_ me?" she growled. "Think again, pal."

"No, I've worded this badly." Will took a deep breath and tried again. "I love you," he said. "I can't help it. I can't stop myself. I need you with me. We'll work out the details later, but right now, I just—"

"_No_," Lizzy said scowling.

"No?" Will repeated slowly, a frown darkening his face as if he'd never heard the word before.

"No," repeated Lizzy. "What did you _think_? That all you had to do was tell me, and that I'd jump at the chance?" She saw by the sharpness of his scowl that was _exactly_ what he thought. "You're so fucking full of yourself; you're as bad as Collins."

"I would've hoped that I would _at least_ be better than Collins," Will Darcy scoffed.

"You're _worse_," snapped Lizzy, "barging in here and kissing me without any thought for what _I_ want; Collins at least _asked_, even if he didn't listen."

"Then I'll ask you," Will said, as if he were humoring her. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you consent to be my—"

"No."

Will stiffened. "No?"

"Absolutely not," said Lizzy, crossing her arms. "Right now, you're the last man on earth that I'd ever—"

"_Last man on earth?_" Will repeated infuriated. "And what have I done to deserve such a title?"

Lizzy's mouth was a sharp, thin line. "You arrogant shithead, do you _really_ have no idea?"

"No, this arrogant shithead has _absolutely_ no idea," Will said, gritting his teeth.

"Jane, you asshole," snapped Lizzy, and Will's face closed with a carefully composed scowl.

"There's no wrong in what I did for Charlie," Will said shortly "I was kinder to him that I was to myself."

"What do you mean by _that_?" Lizzy asked icily. "Huh? What the _fuck_ do you mean by that? What I have ever done to make you believe that I was after your money? What did _Jane_ do? She _loved_ Charlie."

"Don't lie," snapped Will.

"She's going to be a _doctor_," Lizzy reminded him angrily. "She'll make her _own_ money."

"It's a ruse," Will said, "to fool men into believing—"

"Ranking in the top twenty of her med school class is a lot of work to trick someone," Lizzy pointed out savagely.

"She never seemed interested."

"That's means she's _very_ interested, idiot," Lizzy said, "and freaked out by her own attraction."

"She wouldn't sleep with Charlie at the Netherfield party," said Will. "Withholding sexual gratification is a classic technique of women who—"

"They went from first kiss to his bed in like five seconds," interrupted Lizzy. "Jane didn't want Charlie to think she was easy."

"She never said she loved him—"

"Neither did he," Lizzy pointed out.

Will started stuffing his hands into his pockets, found a small zipper on inside of his coat, and pulled out a small photograph of Charlie smiling. He threw it at Lizzy, so she could see the jewel-encrusted crown painted on it and the words _Prince Charming_ scrawled at the bottom. "I found _that_ in your sister's purse that night at Netherfield. Now what woman would carry that with her if she didn't have designs on a man's wealth?"

"That's Charlotte's handwriting," said Lizzy sharply. "This is Charlotte's Christmas present to Jane. She put in Jane's purse. It's a _joke_, and what the fuck were you doing going through my sister's purse _anyhow_?"

Will was silent, examining the photo again, his mouth slightly open.

"You _coward_," hissed Lizzy. "You can't even admit that you've screwed up—that you were _wrong_."

"What I did," Will said stiffly, "I did through concern for a friend. You would have done the same thing for Charlotte if it were possible."

Lizzy hated that he was right; she hated that he wasn't sorry. She searched her mind for something that Will Darcy had done that couldn't be excused. "At least I've never used my power over people to destroy their opportunities."

Will Darcy sighed angrily. "You'll have to be more explicit than that. I haven't a clue what you're trying to tell me."

"Jack."

Will looked at her sharply. "_Wickham?_"

"Yes," Lizzy said, smug that he'd already reacted.

"What did he tell you?" he demanded to know, grabbing her shoulders, hard and pinching with a guitarist's strong fingers.

"Ow," said Lizzy automatically, and when Will Darcy didn't loosen his hold, she snapped, "_Oww_—that means you _let go_." She wrestled away from his hands and shoved him roughly. "That's what I can't stand about you: you don't _listen_; you don't hear anything you don't feel like hearing. You're so damn _arrogant_ about everything; you always assume you know better, and even when you know you're wrong, you won't stoop so low to _admit _it—" Scowling, he turned on his head and started for the door. Lizzy raised her voice and followed him. "You do everything without thinking how others will feel, and then you just _justify_ yourself and your actions and your _damn pride_—"

At the doorway, he stopped, and Lizzy saw a man—very tall, very pale, very young—with one hand on the doorframe, looking back at her over his shoulder, scowling with an open and vulnerable mouth. _Click_—there was the first photograph that Lizzy had wanted to take since she got to Rosings.

"This is your opinion of me?" he asked.

"Yes," Lizzy replied very quietly.

He nodded to her abruptly. "Thank you for your time," he said swiftly and strode out the door. It had started to rain. Will stuffed his hands in his pockets and thrust his head into the wind. Watching him go, Lizzy was sorry, and she hated that he'd managed to make her sorry.

So she slammed the door after him and burst into furious tears.

8.

He came back the next morning. Lizzy knew this, because Mr. Collins loud exclamations about it woke her up ("Mr. Darcy! To what do we owe this _unexpected_ yet languorously anticipated pleasure? And before breakfast, too.") and Charlotte knocked on her door softly to tell her that Will Darcy was there to see her. Lizzy rolled over in bed, pressed a pillow to her ear, and hoped that Charlotte would think she was asleep—or at least, pretend to think she was asleep. It must've worked, because Charlotte walked away and Lizzy woke up again two hours later, still not ready to face the day.

She walked downstairs anyway, made herself a balanced breakfast of Life cereal and coffee, and found a note from Charlotte, one with a lot of questions about Will Darcy and a postscript saying that Charlotte and Collins had gone to work on Rosings. Lizzy ate her breakfast and didn't think. Instead, she savored her anger, clutching to it before guilt pushed it away.

There was a knock on the back door. Guessing that Charlotte had come back to check on her again, Lizzy got up and opened it.

"Hey, kiddo," said Fitz, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his green hoodie. "Can I come in?" Lizzy glanced around behind Fitz suspiciously. "Will's not here. His flight home was an hour ago."

Lizzy opened the door wider and let Fitz pass. _At least Fitz knocks like a normal person_, Lizzy thought irritably.

"Thanks, kiddo," said Fitz, spinning a chair around and sitting on it backwards, legs splayed out.

"Well, if you're going to be here a while, do you want something to drink?" Lizzy said.

"Orange juice?" he asked hopefully.

Lizzy smirked. "All out."

"Just milk then," said Fitz. When Lizzy went to the fridge to pour it, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me Charlie's redhead was your sister?"

"Would you have told me that much if I had?" asked Lizzy, placing Fitz's milk in front of him and returning to her breakfast.

"Maybe," said Fitz.

"Maybe's not good enough," said Lizzy.

"Are you going to tell her?" Fitz asked.

"I almost did," Lizzy said softly, wrapping her hands around her warm mug of coffee. "I almost called her yesterday, but she's just started sounding like her old self. I don't want her to relapse."

Fitz reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, unfolded it, and placed it on the table between them. Lizzy saw her full name written on it in small, precise handwriting she didn't want to recognize. "Will came by to deliver this before he left," Fitz said. "Charlotte Collins said that you were still asleep and refused to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep," admitted Lizzy.

"I know," Fitz said. "He's real ripped up about all of this."

Lizzy waited.

"I don't know about Charlie and your sister," said Fitz slowly. "I wasn't there, but little Giana is my cousin. I'd like to know what that shit Wickham said about her and Will."

Lizzy examined Fitz's face; he was as serious as she'd ever seen him.

"What did Wickham say?" Fitz asked again, and Lizzy told him, watching Fitz's scowl darken with every word she said. When she was finished, Fitz was silent for a moment, staring into his milk. He looked up and said, "None of that is true. I'd like to tell you what really happened, but Will's made me swear not to say anything unless he or Giana give me the okay. I want you know though, that Wickham is a liar and an asshole, and I'd like to punch his face in if I ever see him again. Do you believe me?"

"I believe that you believe it," said Lizzy.

Fitz smirked and took a sip of milk. "You'll check it out for yourself," he said, and Lizzy didn't disagree. "Okay, kiddo—here's what I came for, and before you get pissed off, no—Will didn't send me; he'd probably break something if he knew I was here. Here we go." He folded his hands and spoke firmly and clearly as if Lizzy were a small child. "I think you and Will should be together."

Lizzy snorted.

"I've been trying to push you two closer all week," Fitz continued, as if Lizzy hadn't scoffed. "I think you two would be perfect for each other, and Maggie agrees. You see, kiddo—you're the most difficult person I've met in months; it's really no wonder Aunt Catty hates you."

Lizzy grinned in spite of herself. "Thanks. I consider that a compliment."

"Well, wait a minute, kiddo—it's not a good thing," Fitz said, and Lizzy looked at him sharply. "It means that whoever you end up with either has to be really, really good-natured or just as stubborn as you are."

"I'm assuming that you're saying your cousin's that stubborn," said Lizzy drily.

"And you're perfect for Will, because you don't put up with his shit," Fitz went on. "And he already respects your opinion. You don't know him well enough to realize how rare that is."

"And why should I care?" said Lizzy exasperated, putting a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

"Because Will loves you," Fitz said.

"Does anyone care about how _I_ feel?" snapped Lizzy. "I hate him, okay? I _hate_ him."

"No, you don't," said Fitz quietly. "If you did, you wouldn't be so confused right now."

Lizzy scowled, pushing her cereal around and hating that he was right. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to read that letter," Fitz said.

"_Fine_," said Lizzy harshly.

"I'm serious. Don't rip up after I leave," Fitz said.

"I _won't_," Lizzy said irritably. "I promise."

"Okay, then," Fitz said, downing the rest of his milk in one gulp and standing. "I'll just see myself out."

"Hey, Fitz?" said Lizzy, just as he reached the door; she looked at him and half-smiled. "Congratulations. On the baby."

Fitz smiled, with lots of teeth and a dimple on his cheek. It worried Lizzy that it reminded her of Will Darcy's smile. "Thanks," he said, opening the door. "And Lizzy, I just want you to know that Will can do some stupid shit, but if he's alive and she's alive, everything's still fixable, right?"

Knowing that Fitz was talking about Jane and Charlie, Lizzy shrugged and let herself smile.

"Hey, it worked for me and Maggie," said Fitz, walking out. "Bye, kiddo. Hope to see more of you someday."

"Bye," Lizzy said, but Fitz had already left and closed the door behind him. Lizzy lifted her coffee and stared at Will's letter, trying to gauge how long it would take before her own curiosity made her open it.

She held out seven minutes.

_Elizabeth Bennet: _ Lizzy read.

_This is not a love letter; do not misunderstand me again and put this letter aside without reading it to the end. Rather than humiliate myself and annoy you with what we should best put behind us, I merely wish to correct some misconceptions of which you made me aware this afternoon._

_Regarding Jack Wickham, he has doubtless told you a horrific life story that is certain to be half-true, at best. This is the truth. For all my other faults, which you so kindly pointed out to me earlier, I have never lied to you, and I am nearly sure that the same cannot be said for Wickham._

_Jack Wickham was born to a family who lived on the grounds of Pemberley. I believe his father was once our groundskeeper, but he died when Jack and I were quite small and I do not remember him well. His mother had a modest shop in town, a women's boutique, which supported her and Jack reasonably well. She did, however, have difficulty paying for Jack's schooling, and when she came to my father for a loan, his generous nature made it impossible for him to turn her away. Because of our proximity and our parent's friendship, Jack and I became playmates, sometimes along with my sister Giana, but despite the time we spent together, we were never close._

_When I came of age, I was sent to Boston where my mother's family promised to supervise and finance my schooling. Although I wasn't aware of this at the time, my father was nearing bankruptcy; he was unable to pay for my own education. You see, it is quite expensive to maintain an estate as large as Pemberley, and inherited money dwindles through the generations. My father was raised with the notion that it is ungentlemanly to work; if he saw what I do now, his disappointment would be unbearable._

Lizzy rolled her eyes; a rock star's work was _so_ hard.

_Here in the states, I attended Ashborough Academy and Boston University with Charlie; I did not return home until my father's death in the spring of my sophomore year at BU. I found Giana had grown into a young lady and my home had fallen into disrepair; I was shocked when the lawyers presented me with my father's accounts. My father and I rarely spoke, you must understand; he had too much pride to admit his financial difficulties, even to his own son. Despite my father's posthumous debts, his will stipulated that the bills for Jack Wickham's education should still be paid; he felt he should still keep up appearances even after death. After a phone conversation to Wickham and his mother, we all agreed that the money should be paid in one lump sum so that the Wickhams could manage it themselves and I would be able to concentrate on my father's other debts._

_I returned to Boston University, Wickham to the University of Kent. I was able now to return to England every break, and I used the opportunity to manage Pemberley as best I could. I made mistakes as youth often do. Wickham called me during one of these breaks, and when he explained that his money was depleted and asked for more, I refused and also lost my temper with him. _

_I believe his next acts were fueled by revenge. After dropping out of his university, he returned to his hometown and focused his attentions on my sister. She is a good girl, and an intelligent one, one who would normally be too clever to fall for Wickham's tricks, but she was lonely. Our mother left us when we were young, and I was sent away and my father died soon after. Pemberley is a large place to be alone in, so it was only natural that she would gravitate toward Wickham's charm. I should have found a way to transfer to a school in England after my father's death, but I thought…It doesn't matter what I thought; you are not reading this for a glimpse into my psyche._

_During my senior year at the university, I flew home for one long weekend; I returned to find my sister and Wickham on the sofa in an advanced state of undress. My anger was considerable; blows were exchanged as well as threats. It would have been worse probably if there hadn't been Giana to tend to as well; I suppose I should add that she was just sixteen years old at this time._

_Regarding your sister, I know there is nothing I can say to excuse my actions to you. I will only say this: I underestimated Jane's affection for Charlie; I did not believe that his disappearance would hurt her. Indeed, I am very sorry to have caused her any pain. _

Lizzy's breath hissed between her teeth, and scowling, she thought that sorry wasn't good enough.

_I do not have to inform you of the delicate nature of these affairs; my sister in particular would be compromised if word reached the wrong ears. I must ask you to destroy this letter when you have finished with it and beg you never to speak of this to anyone. _

_Good-bye, Lizzy._

_Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy_

Lizzy shouted in outrage, crumpled up the letter, and threw it against the wall. She sat for a moment, furious, hating that he'd apologized and that she couldn't hate him anymore with a clear conscience.

Then, she picked it up and read it again, wishing that she could talk to Jane, wishing that the Collinses had internet so that she could check some of this out, wishing that Will Darcy was still at Rosings so she could march up to him and make him explain himself better.

After the fourth reading, Lizzy turned on the oven's gas burner stovetop and watched the fire eat away at Will Darcy's words. Then she sighed and knew what she had to do.

9.

She got her opportunity the day she returned to Vickroot, when Jane asked Lizzy to pick Lydia up from Caribou so that their roommate didn't have to walk a half-mile to class in the rain.

"Lizzy!" cried Lydia, as soon as Lizzy walked through the door; the younger girl jumped up from her laptop and ran to give her a hug and Lizzy felt guilty for getting so annoyed with her before break.

"Well, well," said Jack, grinning behind the counter. "It's been a while since I've seen you around here, love."

"Aww, did you miss me?" Lizzy teased.

"Always," said Jack.

"_Yes_," Lydia said, with a pout. "Your dad kept coming around, and Jane and I couldn't do anything to stop him."

"I guess I'll have to talk to him then," said Lizzy smiling. "You ready to go?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," said Lydia with an anxious look.

"Sure," said Lizzy shrugging. "You mind if I check my email on your computer?"

Lydia shook her head, smiling shyly, and running off the back of the room.

"She likes you quite a bit," Jack said, as Lizzy slid into Lydia's chair and pulled up _Google_. "She talks about you all the bloody time."

"She's a sweet kid," Lizzy admitted, a little embarrassed. She typed _Georgiana Darcy_ into the search engine and clicked go, hoping that Jack wouldn't walk over to her table.

"She says you've were at Rosings," said Jack. "Is that the same Rosings that Catherine de Bourgh owns?"

"Yeah," said Lizzy, wrinkling her nose and looking up at Jack. "Did you know her?"

"Met her at Pemberley once," Jack said grimacing. "God, she was terrible. Almost as bad as Darcy himself."

"He was there too," said Lizzy, scrolling past a flurry of Pemberley websites and coming to St. Helen's School—Awards and Honors. "That was a shock. I was hoping I'd never see him again."

Jack laughed, and Lizzy clicked on the St. Helen's site. "Has he improved any since you saw him last?"

"No, if anything, he's gotten worse," Lizzy said darkly, as she skimmed the webpage. Near the middle, she found _Victoria Evans Orchestra Award (Piano)—Georgiana Darcy, Class of 2006. _So that would make her what? Eighteen? Maybe nineteen? "You know what was _really_ annoying?"

"What would that be, love?" Jack asked, grinning already—expecting a joke.

"His _sister_ kept calling him with some crisis," Lizzy said, feeling the blood rush to her face and hoping that Jack wouldn't notice. She kept her eyes fixed on the screen. "Like every few hours. I mean, how _old_ is she?"

"Well, I imagine she'd be nearing twenty-two, twenty-three by now?" Jack said thoughtfully. "Quite old enough to handle herself."

Lizzy looked at him, letting her face fall into a scowl. "Is that so?" she said sharply.

"Well, of course," said Jack laughing but sobered quickly when he saw her face. Lizzy would've said something then, something like _you lying little shit _or _if you ever even touch my cousin…_, if Lydia hadn't come running out of the bathroom.

"Sorry," she told Lizzy, stuffing her books into her backpack.

"Don't worry about it," Lizzy replied, closing all the windows she'd opened on Lydia's computer and shutting it down.

"Bye, Jack!" Lydia cried, turning around and waving as Lizzy guided her firmly out the door. When they were out of earshot and walking through the mall, Lydia gushed to Lizzy, "He's so _hot!_ Oh, my God—that _accent_, and yesterday, he wore this really tight shirt and when he took off his apron…" She giggled. "It gives me tingles just _thinking_ about it."

"Lydia, you've never told him that your father's the head of Citragal Corp, have you?" Lizzy asked.

"No," said Lydia, staring up at Lizzy with a confused frown.

"Good," Lizzy said. "Don't."

"Why?" asked Lydia.

Lizzy thought of Darcy's letter and felt sick—for what Jack did to Georgiana Darcy, yeah, but more for how Jack had fooled her. And how she'd thrown it all in Will Darcy's face and been very, very wrong.

"Just don't," said Lizzy sharply, and when Lydia pouted, she added, "Jack's just not a good person to advertise your trust funds to, okay?"

Lydia was quiet for a very long moment. "Okay," she said finally, and Lizzy squeezed Lydia's shoulder with an affectionate but troubled smile, wondering how long it would be until she could tell Jane.

_Author's Note: I'm sorry this update took me so long. School's started again, and I'm sick and behind on all my readings—so it's probably going to be a while until my next update too (sorry for that). Anyway, thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who reviewed. _


	8. You Told Me

Another Musical Interlude

April was Lizzy's favorite month. The unfurling tree buds granted a daily inspection. The first flower deserved a photograph. The unpredictable weather made her laugh, especially when she walked out of the laundry-mat into an early spring thunderstorm. As she ironed a pile of shirts—Jane's, Lydia's, and her own—warm still from the dryer, she sang, "Who is to say I am not the happy genius of my household?" and it only bothered her a little bit that the song she was singing was part of B.F.D.'s first album.

April was also a month of spring breaks and marathons, and TV had turned out to be Lydia's biggest addiction in college. Apparently her mother had allowed her only an hour and a half of cable per day while she was growing up, so Lydia was determined to make up for her lack in her first semester at Vickroot. Jane had threatened to stop paying the cable bill, but Lizzy knew there wasn't much chance of that, not if it meant that Jane would have to give up _Gilmore Girls_ every Tuesday night.

"Lydia," Jane chided gently from the kitchen (she was scrubbing last night's pasta dishes), "you'll get more homework done if you turn off the TV."

"I'll turn it off after this show is over," Lydia promised.

"You've been watching it all day," Jane pointed out.

"Yeah, but this is the _Newlyweds_ Divorce marathon," Lydia protested. "I'm watching the progression of the break-up. Besides Lizzy's watching too."

"No, I'm not," Lizzy said swiftly, bending her head over Jane's baby blue Oxford. She smoothed it with one hand and ran a steaming iron over it with the other.

"Yes, you are--I saw your mouth drop open during the infamous Chicken of the Sea incident," Lydia told Lizzy smugly.

"I thought the press had _exaggerated_," Lizzy said.

"Nope," said Lydia, turning back to the TV.

"You said you were going to Caribou to study," Jane reminded Lydia.

"I am," Lydia replied, "Just as soon as I finish this chapter."

"Wait," said Lizzy. "What are you going to Caribou for if you're going to finish your work here?"

"_This chapter_," Lydia repeated. "I don't want to have to carry this book all the way to Caribou, that's all."

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy said with a shrewd smirk. "You're a freshman; you don't have _that_ much work. You're going to see Wickhead."

"Am not," Lydia said, but she was blushing.

Lizzy rolled her eyes, very grateful that Lydia was way too young for Jack to even consider dating.

"You can't hide it from me," Lizzy told her cousin. "I've seen your _Mrs. Lydia Wickham_ doodles with all the hearts around them."

Lydia gasped and dropped her psychology textbook. "You've been reading my _diary_?"

Lizzy's mouth curled into a slow grin. "I was joking. I made that _up_. You mean you've actually got _Mrs. Wickham _doodles?"

"No…" Lydia said slowly, her eyes traveling past Lizzy to where a hot pink GODDESS diary sat on the kitchen table.

Lizzy and Lydia bolted for it at the same time. A struggle ensued.

"Let it go; it's mine."

"No way, shortie. Detective instincts are at full throttle now. I gotta follow the lead."

"You're going to fucking _rip_ it."

"Quit whining."

"Hey, Lizzy," said Jane, leaning on the kitchen counter with her eyes on the TV. "Isn't that the guy you met at Rosings?"

Lizzy glanced at Jane, remembering that she still hadn't found the right time to tell her sister what had _really_ happened at Rosings. With a guilty sigh, she released Lydia's diary and turned to see Fitz's smirking face lighting up the screen.

"_In Boston, Richard Fitzwilliam—known as Fitz to his fans—ended up in the hospital today at approximately 9AM_," the MTV newscaster said gravely, and Lizzy gasped. _"He was helping his wife and manager, Margaret Smith-Fitzwilliam, check into the maternity ward."_

"Snot," Lizzy snapped at the telecaster, who was busy tossing her bangs out of her eyes. "She totally did that on purpose."

"I doubt she writes her own lines," Jane told her sister.

"_The Fitzwilliam's baby was a week overdue, and Maggie Fitzwilliam apparently decided to induce pregnancy,_" the newscaster continued. _"As it usually happens in the rock-and-roll business, the paparazzi caught wind of the appointment and waited at the hospital to greet the couple. Needless to say, the parents-to-be weren't too pleased to see them. A gun was pulled. Two, in fact."_

"Oh, my God," Lydia said as Lizzy's mouth fell open.

On screen, the program switched to home-video quality footage—a shaky camera focusing on the door of a silver BMW with background shouts of "Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, look here" and "Fitz, how 'bout a word from the father-to-be?" The Fitzwilliams appeared around the corner of the car: Maggie—dark-haired, petite, and in a wheelchair, and Fitz—red-crested and wheeling her. Their scowls were identical and grim. "Now, Mags?" Fitz asked his wife, and both of them reached into the inside of their jackets simultaneously and pulled out matching silver pistols. They started a wheel-by shooting: Maggie with both arms stretched toward the paparazzi, Charlie's-Angels style, and Fitz, one-handed as he pushed his wife along. Lizzy, Jane, and Lydia could hear the surprised and disgusted cries of the photographers as a stream of water sped toward the camera lens and blurred the shot. Just before the footage ended, a female voice shouted, "Don't BEEP with our kid, you BEEPholes!"

Lizzy was doubled over laughing, tears blooming out of her eyes. "It's not that funny, Lizzy," Lydia told her, but Lizzy just shook her head, too breathless with laughter to explain.

"_Their daughter was born at 4:30 this afternoon,"_ said the newscaster smiling. _"Her name is Zarine Smith-Fitzwilliam. None of the photographers have yet filed charges against the proud parents."_ Lizzy stopped laughing; she hadn't thought about the threat of a lawsuit. _"In other news,"_ continued the newscaster, _"Fitz's bandmate Dar has started a solo career. That's right. William Darlington is his on own. Just for this one song sadly, but guess what? He wrote his own lyrics. Stay tuned—his new video is coming up next on Fresh."_

Lizzy thought she was going to have at least a few commercials' time to prepare herself, but MTV cut immediately to a fuzzy black and white frame of Dar, sitting alone under a spotlight in a plastic folding chair, his acoustic guitar in his lap.

It wasn't fair, Lizzy decided as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. A girl wasn't supposed to be surprised by the guy she was trying not to think about while she was watching _television_, for crying out loud. Lizzy flinched, remembering Charlie, and looked at her sister sharply, but Jane was just standing arms crossed, with a bemused smile on her face. When she noticed Lizzy looking at her, she said, "He's gorgeous, isn't he?"

"_Jane_," Lizzy hissed, mouth agape.

"Oh, come on, Lizzy," Jane scolded with a wry grin. "Look at him. Isn't he handsome?"

"Totally hot," Lydia agreed.

He was. Lizzy always forgot exactly _how_ attractive he was until she saw him again, but it was startlingly obvious in black and white. The dramatic shadows emphasized the angles of his face and the spotlight bring out highlights in his dark hair as he leaned over his guitar and shuffled through the papers at his feet.

He looked up into the camera, and Lizzy recognized the look on his face, the terrifying one where it seemed like he expected something from her. He wetted his lips once and began to sing:

_You told me, _

'_It's so easy to misunderstand you,'_

_and baby,_

_I can't help but think_

_That's what you've done._

_You told me,_

'_you don't listen,'_

_but baby, _

_I've heard _

_every word you've said._

Lizzy felt a blush start on her face, and she shook her hair forward to hide it from her sister and her cousin. She had no reason to be embarrassed. She had no reason to think that he was singing about her.

_CHORUS_

_You told me_

'_Every girl has a secret dream _

_Of being sung to. _

_Remember that,' you said,_

'_For when you fall in love.'_

_So, I've written this song_

_And I'm singing it to you._

Lizzy didn't think she'd said something like that to Will. No—by the pool, maybe?

"Huh," said Jane as Will sang on, and Lizzy could hear the laughter in her sister's voice even though she couldn't manage to tear her gaze away from the screen. "Looks like even the moody Dar can fall in love."

"I wish somebody would write _me_ a song," said Lydia, hugging her knees and grinning into the TV screen.

Jane was quiet for a moment, glancing at Lizzy. Lizzy was still watching the screen. "It's very flattering," Jane said smiling.

"Well, maybe not this _particular _song—" Lydia started, but after missing a whole stanza to Jane and Lydia's conversation, Lizzy said sharply, "Shhh—"

Will was singing again.

_You asked me,_

'_What did you think?_

_That all you had to do_

_Was tell me?_

_That I'd jump_

_At the chance?'_

Lizzy knew she was being manipulated. She knew that it was only the angle of the camera—looking down at Will, from slightly above, and the illusion of poor quality film and how he'd placed himself alone and helpless in the spotlight. But Will just looked so vulnerable—so hopeful—that she couldn't help feeling a little guilty.

_You said,_

'_You coward,_

_You can't even admit _

_You've screwed up._

_That you—_

The garbage disposal garbled on, drowning out the last words of the stanza, and Jane flipped it off and jumped away from the counter, whispering, "Sorry, sorry—I thought that was the light switch." Scowling, Lizzy took the remote from Lydia's hand and turned up the volume just fast enough to hear Will sing,

_Last man on earth _

_Last man on earth _

_Last man on earth_

Lizzy winced, remembering that afternoon and the look on Will's face just before he walked out the door—very pale, very young and scowling with a mouth open and vulnerable. On screen, Dar began a guitar solo, plucking out long, twanging notes that reminded Lizzy of Eric Clapton. And crying.

A small box appeared in the bottom right hand corner of the screen, showing Dar's scowling face and the side of the interviewer's head.

"_So, Dar,"_ said the interviewer, his gelled hair glinting in the studio lights, _"critics have predicted that the release of your single preludes your band's break up. Do B.F.D. fans have any need to worry?"_

"_No,"_ said Will, so stiffly that Lizzy had to smile.

"_Why did you choose to make such a career-changing move?"_ asked the interviewer.

Will glanced into the camera and back at the interviewer. When he responded, the return of his American accent made Lizzy flinch. _"There was a song I needed to write."_

"_And record. And release,"_ added the interviewer with a grin. Lizzy grinned wider when she saw Will's eyes narrow. He really hated this interviewer. _"Any word on your label's reaction to this song?"_

"_No,"_ Will said, and Lizzy snickered.

"_How about the song itself then? Is it true? Did some girl really—"_

"_I'll let the song speak for itself, thank you,"_ said Will sharply, getting up off the chair MTV had allotted him and walking off screen. Lizzy half-grimaced, half-smiled, and didn't envy Will his next round of interviews.

Jane said to Lizzy, "He hasn't changed, has he?"

The smile fell off Lizzy's face, as she looked guiltily at her sister. Will Darcy would've _had_ to change to write this kind of song.

_I think you were wrong._

_I think there's a chance._

_This is me, _

_Reaching out to you._

_This is me telling you,_

_I've heard everything you've said._

_Now maybe, this once,_

_You might listen to me._

_CHORUS_

_You told me_

'_Every girl has a secret dream _

_Of being sung to. _

_Remember that,' you said,_

'_For when you fall in love.'_

_So, I've written this song_

_And I'm singing it to you._

_Yeah, I'm singing it to you._

Will glanced up from his notes on the floor and stared back into the screen one final time. There was a half-smile lighting up his face. "_Yeah_," he sang, "_I'm singing it to you_." The last chord rang out, and the credits appeared in the left-hand corner (_Will Darlington/ You Told Me/ Catcall Records 2006)_. Then, the latest Gwen Stefani video filled the screen.

Lizzy realized she was holding her breath and let it go in a sigh.

"Well," said Lydia, getting up and shoving books in her backpack, "I guess we know why B.F.D. doesn't write their own lyrics."

"What do you mean?" Lizzy said defensively. "It's a good song."

"Lizzy," said Jane, red eyebrows raised and corners of her mouth curling, "I thought you _hated_ him."

"I don't hate him," said Lizzy, remembering the look on his face as he sang to her. No matter how else Will Darcy confused her, Lizzy was sure of that at least.


	9. Touring Pemberley

1.

The bus swung around the sharp curve of a cliff, and its passengers swayed with it obligingly. The tour guide—a woman in a straw hat and felt overalls (for no reason that Lizzy and the Gardiners could understand)—braced herself against the seat and told them enthusiastically about a local legend, something about a buccaneer who hid in a cave and some treasure and some other nonsense. Two kids sat in the aisle, playing snap noisily. A couple of middle-aged women were reading, but most of the passengers were napping, including—Lizzy noticed—her own aunt and uncle.

"I can't believe you two are sleeping through this," Lizzy said, pressing her lens to the window and snapping shots of the rolling English countryside.

Diana Gardiner burrowed her head into her husband's chest. "God, why couldn't Jane come just to baby-sit Lizzy?" she grumbled. "Stupid bus, driving us all insane."

"Honey, this was your idea," Sam Gardiner reminded her gently. "Remember? You need to do research for a shoot at an English manor, and you decided that this would be the easiest way."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Diana said shortly. "I just wish mine didn't involve motion sickness."

"I have the bag right here if you need it again," said Sam, stroking her hair. "Just try to sleep."

"I'm trying, but someone won't stop her incessant _clicking_," snapped Diana, looking over at her niece. "I have a headache too, you know."

Lizzy lowered her camera guiltily and settled in her seat a little more comfortably. "Sorry, Aunt Diana."

"Don't you 'Aunt Diana' me," she said irritably. "We've puked in the same toilets together at the same parties."

"Good thing I married you then," said Sam. "To keep you from corrupting my innocent, defenseless niece."

"Innocent? Defenseless? When I met her she was—" Diana started.

"Do I need to cover my ears?" Sam asked hurriedly.

"No," Lizzy said, picking up her camera bag from under the seat and going through the film in the front pocket. "I was just waiting tables."

"You were pouring coffee over the lap of some guy who'd just grabbed your ass," Diana reminded her.

"Actually I was losing my job," Lizzy said ruefully.

"It was still worth it, though," Diana said, grinning at the memory. "Especially when I offered you another job right after that. Easy money."

"_Easy_?" Lizzy replied, mouth open. "Have you ever _tried_ modeling, Diana?"

"Ever tried my job?" Diana snapped back. "Calls every second, appointments every half hour, lunch booked up or skipped—"

"No more talk about work, honey. We're on vacation," Sam reminded his wife gently.

"I want my phone back," said Diana, glaring at each of them in turn. "I know one of you has it. No one will be harmed if it is back in my possession by the end of the day. If it isn't, I can't be responsible for my actions."

"How 'bout we make a deal?" Lizzy said grinning. "You stop being a workaholic for the rest of the week, and I hand you this bottle of Motrin."

Diana grabbed the aspirin out of Lizzy's outstretched hand quickly. "You've been holding out on me!"

"Bullshit," said Lizzy, watching Diana use her teeth to pry off the childproof top. "I just found them."

"Be nicer to Lizzy," Sam told Diana, unscrewing the top off a bottle of water and handing it to his wife. "You did invite her, after all."

Diana popped two pills in her mouth, swigged a sip from the bottle, threw her head back, and swallowed. "Sorry, Lizzy, and thanks. I'm just bitchy in general. It's nothing personal, you know that right?"

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Of course, I know that. It was pretty obvious after a couple years as your client."

"And you were my _favorite_ client," Diana assured her, reaching over her husband to grab Lizzy's hand. "I really like you a lot."

Sam laughed. "And with Diana, that really means she loves you."

Touched, Lizzy squeezed her aunt's hand. "I love you too, Diana."

Diana sneezed, and Sam laughed again and kissed the top of his wife's head. "_That_ was her allergic reaction to the sentimental."

Diana retreated back into her seat and leaned her head against the cool glass of the bus window. "I'm sick, and you _pick_ on me," she said.

"Sure," said Sam, taking her hand, "because you make such a cute pouting face. Here, do it again. Lemme see it. Better yet—Lizzy, you take a picture," he told his niece, holding his wife's face between his hands and showing Lizzy. "Diana, don't _smile_. You'll ruin it."

Lizzy framed the shot—Sam half-bent and in profile, as he smiled at his wife; Diana, ducking her head and laughing up at him in the circle of his arms. _Click_. You'd never guess that Diana had just scared a team of lawyers shitless that last week, fighting a pretty gruesome legal battle. Three of her models were suing the same photographer for sexual harassment. Diana had lost of her temper when the photographer's lawyers had tried to claim that their client had just been trying to smooth the back of the models' skirts. She'd grabbed one of the lawyers, one in a sharply starched suit with gray in his hair, ran her hands down each side of his butt, and pushed him back into his seat, saying "Sorry, just fixing your pants; they were a little wrinkled." When he'd told Lizzy this story, Sam had laughed so hard he cried.

This was supposed to be Diana's victory trip, paid for by her fraction of the case settlement, and she'd invited the Bennet twins along as an early birthday present. Jane had opted not to come, saying she was stuck trying to take summer classes so that she could finish med school early (Lydia was taking summer classes, too, since she hadn't passed as many of her courses in her first semester as she might have liked), but Lizzy really wished Jane _had_ come. This was the Gardiner's first big trip together since their marriage a year ago, and Lizzy couldn't help feeling like a third wheel.

The bus turned off the main road and through a stone gateway, and the tour guide stood up and told the passengers in a very heavy Southern accent, "Well, y'all, if you'll just wake up, you'll notice that we're coming to the next estate on our tour."

Lizzy looked out the window at the stretch of green forest and at the stone bridge that the bus was approaching, and she grinned, reaching for her camera. "Hey, Diana? Has that Motrin kicked in yet?"

Diana groaned.

"Sounds like yes," Sam told Lizzy grinning.

"Good," said Lizzy, snapping a shot of the top of the bridge casting a shadow over the stream under it, the leaves blowing gently on the trees around it.

"Is that even going to come out?" Sam asked, as his niece snapped a quick succession of forest stills, trying to capture the intricate arrangements of the trees.

"Some of them will," Lizzy told him. "That'll be enough. _Shit_," she breathed, as the bus drew out of the trees and winded up the road on a green hill. "Look at that house!" She pressed the lens up to the glass, trying to capture the way the rolling grasses and the curves of the road echoed the meandering paths of the ivy that covered the front of the house. "Look at all the windows--they're _huge_! Those doors! They looked like they're carved out of ebony!"

"What's Lizzy in raptures about now?" Diana asked her husband.

"This is the _best_ one so far," Lizzy told her.

"That's what you said about the last one," Sam reminded her.

"This one's different. God, what I wouldn't give to _live_ here," said Lizzy, using the zoom on her lens to get a closer look. "Look at that staircase out front; even the railings are carved marble. It looks smooth. I wonder if you can slide down it."

"Ooo, say that again but louder," said Diana, looking at the front of the bus. "Maybe the tour guide will hear you and faint, and they'll take us straight to the inn."

Snapping pictures, Lizzy ran circles around the rest of the tour group, as they all walked up that beautiful staircase (Lizzy resolved to sneak back there later in the tour to try out the slide-ability of its marble guardrails). She didn't see anything she didn't want to capture on film. Even the cracks running down the length of the doorframe got a couple shots. The wooden inlay on the front hall floor—a scene depicting Atalanta stooping for an apple--got three. The intricate carvings along the ceilings and walls—all of the muses, Lizzy was almost sure—finished up the roll.

"You still want to live here, Lizzy?" Diana asked disdainfully.

"Absolutely," Lizzy said enthusiastically. "Why? Did a distant relative die and leave it to you?"

"Lizzy, it's a dump," Diana said, pointing to a hall on their left where water damage stained the cream paint.

Lizzy looked around, noticing, the bare patches in velvet curtains, the paint peeling off the paneling, and the white sheets thrown over the furniture (Lizzy snapped a quick still of the wind making a sheet billow off a long wooden table that needed polishing). "It's just run-down," said Lizzy defensively. "That happens to old ancestral homes. Money runs out."

"How do you know?" Diana asked.

Lizzy grinned. "I saw it on _20-20_."

"It's no use," Sam told Diana. "She's in love with it already."

Lizzy chose to ignore this. "And look over there," she said, pointing to where tools had been left out next to the paneling, its many layers of paint partially chipped off to show an intricate pine base. "They're renovating, so give them a break—they're in the process."

"Where are we anyway?" Diana asked.

"Hedgefield, I think," Lizzy said, squatting to frame a shot of both the wooden paneling and the tool that had chipped away the paint.

"Hedgefield was the _last_ estate," Sam said. "Don't you two listen to the tour guide?"

"Why? You give us the highlights," Diana said, kissing his cheek.

Sam sighed. "This is Pemberley."

"_Pemberley, Pemberley, beautiful Pemberly," _Lizzy sang, wondering why it sounded so familiar.

"Definitely in love," Diana agreed.

"Shit, we've lost the tour; this always happens," Sam complained.

"You can still hear the tour guide," Diana said. "We'll find them again. Don't worry."

"Ooo, look!" cried Lizzy, ducking down a side corridor. "A _portrait _hall. Look at the ruffly collar that woman's wearing." Lizzy lifted her camera to her face again. "I wonder how many generations ago _she_ was."

"That's the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother of my employer," said a very British voice behind Lizzy, who spun around to face the tiny, white-haired woman in a high-collared blouse and long skirt. "No pictures allowed inside the house, miss," she told Lizzy icily.

"The tour guide did mention that," Sam muttered.

"Little late to tell us that _now_," grumbled Diana.

"You're going to take my film away, aren't you?" Lizzy asked sadly, cradling her camera.

"Only if you've managed to take any pictures of the portraits," said the old woman. "My employer likes his privacy. He doesn't want his picture being circulated."

"You caught me just in time then," Lizzy said.

"Do you promise me, young lady?" the woman asked shrewdly.

"I promise."

The woman graced her with a wry grin, and Lizzy saw all the wrinkles in her cheeks were laugh lines. "My name is Cynthia Reynolds, and I am the housekeeper of the Pemberley estate."

Grinning back, Lizzy shook Cynthia Reynolds's outstretched hand. "My name's Elizabeth Bennet. I'm a photographer."

"And a university student on holiday, I suspect," said Cynthia Reynolds.

"Yes, ma'am," said Lizzy. "This is my aunt and uncle, Diana and Sam Gardiner."

"It's a pleasure," said Cynthia Reynolds, nodding icily at the couple. "I heard your talk earlier. Pemberley is not a 'dump.'" Diana gulped and actually blushed, and Lizzy grinned to see her former agent look like a schoolgirl caught smoking in the bathroom. "It is indeed in the middle of its renovation," Cynthia Reynolds told Lizzy, "but you were only half-correct. Pemberley has acquired the funds it needs to keep up the estate, but it's my employer that's slowing us down. He wants to do all the renovations himself."

"All of it?" Diana said. "He'll never finish. This place is _huge_."

"Perhaps," said Cynthia Reynolds, with a sigh of proud and indulgent exasperation, "but all the work you see done is his own doing. He hasn't done as much as he'd like—he's often away on business, you see, but the private corners of the house have been completely redone. You won't see them on this tour. He's worked around it. My employer's father signed the contract with the tour company—needed the money, you see. Will has tried to buy his way out of it but to no avail."

"Will?" repeated Diana, and Lizzy froze, her camera suddenly heavy in her fingers.

"My employer," Cynthia Reynolds explained, pointing to the portrait behind Lizzy's head. Lizzy and the Gardiners turned.

"Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy," said Lizzy dully, and she thought she might be sick.

"Is there a plaque?" Diana asked, squinting at the bottom of the frame.

"No," said Cynthia Reynolds. "Does Miss Bennet know young Will?"

"No way," Diana said delighted.

"Lizzy, really?" asked Sam.

"Would you happen to be the same Lizzy that Will knew in Vickroot?" Cynthia Reynolds asked.

"I need to leave," Lizzy announced, starting to turn around, but Cynthia Reynolds dropped an iron hand on her shoulder.

"Not on his account, you don't," Cynthia Reynolds told her, "He's not here."

"Not here?" Lizzy echoed suspiciously.

"Not yet, anyway," Cynthia told her. "The whole lot of them is coming up in the next few days."

"Whole lot?" Lizzy said.

"Charlie's coming, and he hasn't managed to get rid of his sister," said Cynthia Reynolds.

"I still think I need to leave," Lizzy told her.

"No, stay," said Cynthia, taking Lizzy's arm. "There are things still to be cleared up."

She knew everything, Lizzy could tell. Cynthia Reynolds was must be like a mother to Will. "Concerning young Jack Wickham, he's a scoundrel," Cynthia Reynolds told Lizzy. "He wracked up quite a few debts on Pemberley credit, and I bet Will didn't tell you that. I wasn't here at the time. I was taking my retirement. I've come out of it to be with poor Giana.—Ah, Giana's here. I bet she'd love to meet you. Both of us have had our ears filled with you."

Lizzy gulped, twisted her arm out of Cynthia Reynolds's grip, and excused herself. "I think I'll just go wait on the bus," she said, walking out the way she'd come in.

"Lizzy, are you all right?" Sam asked, but Lizzy waved the question off and walked outside. She took three deep breaths to calm herself as she trampled down the beautiful staircase and strode across the lawn, trying to remember where they'd parked the tour bus.

The view still stopped her in her tracks—the gentle sloping lawn, giving way to the trees; a lake shining blue in the right hand foreground, a flock of water fowl dotting its surface. _Click_ (Lizzy just couldn't help herself; she could _never_ help herself). The birds—ducks, Lizzy was almost sure—took flight, flapping across the surface of the water; there was a tall man, walking up on the left side of the frame and Lizzy hoped he wouldn't ruin the shot. _Click_. The whole flock was airborne now, organizing themselves into a V; the man was shirtless and lean, a rag hanging around his neck—Lizzy guessed he was the gardener. _Click_. The ducks were flying above the forest now, the shadow of the V just barely noticeable on the treetops; the man was near enough now that Lizzy could see the sweat across his shoulders and the black smears across his arms and face. _Click._ The birds were out of the frame; the man was so close now that Lizzy could see him staring at her, mouth open—smears of grease down his cheek. _Click_.

"Hello, Lizzy," said Will Darcy, a lot calmer than he had any right to be.

"Shit, you're not supposed to _be_ here," Lizzy cried. "I mean, you're supposed to be here—this is your house, but Cynthia Reynolds said you weren't coming until—"

"I was always coming today," Will said quietly. "I'm late, in fact. My car broke down. I had to walk the rest of the way here."

Lizzy pushed aside the fact that Cynthia Reynolds had lied to her. "I came on a bus," Lizzy told him, almost desperately, and when Will Darcy frowned still confused, she added, "The tour bus."

"_Ah_," said Will. "I see. My father put Pemberley on that contract."

"Yeah, Cynthia Reynolds told us that," Lizzy said.

"Us?" Will inquired politely.

"My aunt and uncle," Lizzy explained.

"I see," said Will. "Are you enjoying your tour?"

"I got…side-tracked," Lizzy said.

"Yes—of course," Will said, and he gave a small little bow, one that looked very odd with his t-shirt draped around his neck like a rag and grease marks and sweat all over him. "Please excuse me," he said and walked up the hill to the house.

Lizzy watched him for a second and then noticed that her aunt and uncle were walking down the hill towards her. "Lizzy," called Diana, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

And that was the point that Lizzy slung her camera strap across her shoulder and _ran_.

2.

Will Darcy resolved to do everything he could do to convince Lizzy to stay at Pemberley for a while, even if it was only long enough for a cup of tea. All's fair in love and war, they say, and what he had with Lizzy was a bit of both. Beside, he knew if he didn't, he'd never see her again. He'd spent too many months thinking to never see her again.

Fortunately, it took about seven minutes for Will to manage a quick scrub in the shower and a change of clothes before sprinting down the lawn to chase Lizzy onto an almost empty tour bus.

"Lizzy," Will called softly to what looked like rows and rows of empty seats, "where are you?" He knew Lizzy was there, because his uncle told him she was hiding there. Somewhere in near the back, he'd said. On the left side.

The bus was silent, and Will couldn't pretend that he didn't feel foolish. He walked forward, looking around and under the seats. "Please come out, Lizzy," said Will. "I'm really delighted to see you. Well, not _see_ you at this exact moment, but—" Will stopped and sighed, knowing he was babbling and knowing he couldn't help it—words kept spilling out of his mouth. "Besides, it's dreadfully hot on this bus, isn't it? I suppose I should expect such weather in August, but—" He heard something that sounded a lot like ripping and looked down to see Lizzy crouched under the seat. "There you are, Lizzy. Will you not come out?"

Lizzy shook her head sternly.

"Lizzy, you can't be comfortable there," Will said squatting. "You must at least come out from under the seat." He reached towards her to give her a hand, but she shrank away, scowling.

Will withdrew his hand, and they stared at each other for a moment. Even sweating in the summer heat, stuffed under a bus seat, she was still very beautiful and rather ridiculous in her independence.

"I have a dark room," Will told her.

Lizzy looked at him sharply. "You do _not_."

"I do," Will promised. "Giana had a photography phase, though the darkroom itself hasn't been used."

"That's not fair," Lizzy snapped, glaring at him.

"What isn't?" Will asked.

"You're playing dirty," Lizzy reminded him. "You _know_ I have all this film I want to develop, don't you?"

Will grinned. "Does that mean you're coming out then?"

Lizzy sighed irritably. "I _can't_," she said. "I'm stuck. I think I just ripped my shirt."

Will did his best to conquer his grin before reaching down and pulling her shirt free from a nail under the seat. Lizzy wriggled out slowly and sat up on the bus floor, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I didn't know," Lizzy told him miserably, and when Will frowned a question, she added, "that this was your house."

"I know," said Will as earnestly as he could.

"I'm sorry," said Lizzy, looking up at him.

"Don't be," said Will grinning. "I really am delighted to—"

"No," said Lizzy shortly. "About Jack."

"Ah," said Will, no longer grinning. He knew he should now apologize for his part in Charlie and Jane's affairs, but he couldn't make himself bring it up. "I understand.—Now will you come?" he asked.

Lizzy sighed again and stood, her camera swaying behind her. "God, I feel like I'm twelve again," she groaned, walking down the aisle.

Will followed, trying to keep the grin off his face and failing. "Which part? The bus or hiding under the seat?"

"I was going to go for the complete and utter awkwardness," Lizzy said, looking back over her shoulder with a grin, and Will watched as the grin faded and Lizzy blushed.

As he followed her down the bus steps, Will's grin widened, and he was blushing himself. "Well, at least I know I'm not alone."

"This is Diana Gardiner," Lizzy said, and it amused Will that she couldn't look him in the face as he reached for her aunt's hand and shook it.

"It's a pleasure," Will said. "Lizzy has said that you are her favorite relatives." He hoped that this proved to Lizzy that he actually _did_ remember everything she'd told him. He couldn't be sure from her expression though. The blush was much too distracting.

"_Lizzy_," said the older man with Lizzy's wavy dark hair, squeezing her around her shoulders, touched.

"You're sucking up for something, aren't you?" the woman said, but Will wasn't sure who she was addressing—Lizzy or himself.

"Absolutely," Lizzy told her aunt. "I saw that shawl in Bristol first, and it'll be in my suitcase when I go home."

"I paid for it," Diana Gardiner said smugly.

"You want to declare its value now, so I can reimburse you when I steal it?" Lizzy asked.

"I'm Sam, her uncle," the man told Will, as if Lizzy and her aunt hadn't spoken. He offered his hand, which Will shook.

"_Uncle Sam_?" Will said, and when Lizzy's mouth snorted, he added hastily, "I apologize if I've offended you. Most of my knowledge of World War I comes from American History textbooks, and there was a poster--"

A grin slowly grew on her face. "I think you spend too much time with Americans," she told him.

"Or too little," Will said, and he watched Lizzy try to convince herself that he didn't have a double meaning.

"How did you two meet?" Lizzy's uncle Sam asked, and Lizzy looked to Will to answer that. He was grateful that she still allowed him his secrecy.

"A concert," Will said. "Lizzy was quite ill."

"And you played a knight in shining armor, I guess," Diana said shrewdly, folding her arms.

"I was a bit of a prat, actually," said Will; when Lizzy snorted again, Will shrugged bashful but smiling.

"You look familiar," Lizzy's aunt told Will, and he remembered with a jolt that her aunt was _very_ involved with the entertainment industry.

"Well, we did just see his huge-ass portrait inside," Lizzy said. It was a rescue attempt, and Will flashed her a grateful smile.

"No, I feel like I should know him," Diana said, scowling in concentration.

Sam held her hand and patted it. "You'd know him already if you weren't already sick."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Will, glad at a chance to change the subject. "Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine," said Diana, glaring at her husband. "Just peachy."

"She only uses words like 'peachy' when she's sick," Lizzy told Will grinning.

"Ah," said Will, nodding seriously as to not offend the formidable aunt. "What seems to be the matter?"

"I'm _fine_," snapped Diana.

"My wife has a headache and some nausea," Sam told Will. "The bus ride didn't agree with her."

"Would you like some ginger ale? Or to lie down?" Will asked Diana. "I'm sure we have medication up at the house, or—"

"You'll let me lie down?" Diana asked sharply.

"Yes, of course," said Will. "I have plenty of rooms—" he began to add and stopped suddenly, because Diana Gardiner was hugging him tightly with a wiry strength surprising for her size.

"I love you," Diana told him quite seriously. Will looked to Lizzy in alarm, but she was no help, snapping a picture and laughing.

3.

Will Darcy was being really nice, and it was freaking Lizzy out. Well, actually—the whole situation was freaking her out, but it was understandable since she was in the house of the man who'd once said he loved her, who she'd rejected pretty harshly, and who'd since written a letter and a song trying to explain himself. That was bad enough, but this same man had managed to find a new personality in the few months since she'd seen him. Asshole Will Darcy was a lot easier to deal with. Polite and Accommodating Will Darcy, the one she'd just met at Pemberley, was just too _nice_ to tease. The fact that he couldn't look at her without smiling didn't help calm her down either.

It was easier now that he was guiding them upstairs, up a dark polished staircase that spiraled up two flights. Its best feature was that it was too narrow for Will could walk and look at her at the same time. "Will, I understand that you're doing the renovations yourself?" Sam said, holding Diana's hand.

"Yes, sir," said Will from up in front.

"That's a pretty big job for one person," Sam told him, and Lizzy winced and braced herself for the reemergence of Asshole Will Darcy.

"I know," Will said shortly, before turning around to grin at them. "That's why I hired a team of gardeners. I doubt I'll ever manage the grounds in my lifetime."

Smiling back uncertainly, Lizzy leaned against the rail and framed a shot of the polished curve of the stairs. "How long did this staircase take you?"

"A weekend," Will said at the second floor landing, pointing them down a long hallway painted a cheery blue and dotted with pine doors. "This way, please."

"A weekend?" Diana said in a way that implied Will Darcy was a complete idiot if he expected them to believe that.

"A _long_ weekend," Will amended, "and I had the help of my sister and my friend." He opened the second door on the right to reveal a room with warm green carpets, light yellow walls, and a queen-sized bed, covered with a green and yellow quilt. Lizzy wondered if Will dabbled in interior decorating, too.

"_Bed_," said Diana, diving at it. Lizzy looked at Will, sure that he'd balk at her rudeness.

He was grinning again, walking into the adjoining bathroom and turning on the light. "This is one of the nicest of the redone rooms," Will told them with obvious pride. "Everything in here works—with the exception of the sink's hot water here." He unscrewed it on, watched no water come out of the faucet, and screwed it off. "I'm still working on it. I really should add that to my list," he said absentmindedly, pulling a paper from his back pocket and scribbling on it.

Lizzy took a quick shot of Diana wrestling the yellow pillow into a shape she liked.

"I think I'll take a nap, too," Sam told Lizzy.

"But you're not sick," Lizzy protested, starting to suffer from abandonment anxiety.

"No, but I'm tired," Sam replied, walking to the bed and pulling the shoes off his wife's feet so she wouldn't get the blankets dirty. "Go and have a good time with your friend."

Diana snorted. _"Friend?"_

"Just wake us up before the bus leaves," Sam told Lizzy, lying down, and Lizzy decided that they weren't her favorite relatives after all.

"Lizzy, come here," Will said, and Lizzy noticed that he'd already left the room and gone halfway down the hall. "Please," he added as an afterthought. "I want you to see something."

The next room he showed her was four doors down the hall and three times as big as the room they'd left the Gardiners in. Boards had been taken out of the floor on the left side of the room, but the walls were painted a light green and there were gauzy, white curtains along the wall of windows.

"I _think_ this used to be the master bedroom," Will told Lizzy. "My father never used it because there used to be water damage along this wall here," he explained, showing her. "The first thing I had to do was replace the entire roof. When I was a boy, you see, we used to have to run around the whole house whenever it rained, emptying water buckets. God, I used to hate thunderstorms."

Lizzy imagined a boy Will, shorter, dark-eyed, and still scowling.

"Come here—this is the best part," he promised her from the wall of curtained windows; they were French door, Lizzy saw when she was closer. They opened out to a huge, round balcony—its paint cracked and peeling, but the _view_. Lizzy could see all the way over the forest and into the fields beyond them. She gave a quiet gasp and stepped forward, camera in hand.

Will stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You can't go out there. It isn't safe," he explained, pointing to a fist-sized hole about twelve feet away. "Giana put her foot through it over there. I haven't figured out how to work on it yet." He sighed. "I might have to break down and call some actual professionals."

Lizzy snapped some pictures from the doorway as he talked and tried to pretend he wasn't grinning at her. "Come on," he said, tugging her arm just as she clicked another photo. It probably blurred the shot but Lizzy was too uncomfortable to protest. He dragged her down three halls and a staircase and burst through some very tall, very white double doors.

"You have a ballroom!" Lizzy whispered, mouth open, when they stopped.

"This one has the only floor that didn't need any help," Will told her. "I think it needed to be replaced once before. It must have been terribly scratched up. But see all the mirrors along the walls?" Lizzy looked, watching copies of herself look back. She snapped a picture, knowing that it would probably be too fractured to develop well. "They were fashionable at one time or another, but look here," he said, drawing her to the section of the wall where the mirror was missing. At about eye-level, there was a carving painted white. "See?" Will said, pointing to a section where the paint had been chipped away to reveal a much more detailed carving of a toga-wearing man with a lyre. "I _think_ it's Orpheus," Will said, flicking a paint chip out from between the lyre's strings, "and this might just Eurydice," he added, pointing to the still-painted section where Lizzy could just make out the picture of the woman.

"The early years," Lizzy said. "The happy ones."

"Yes," said Will absentmindedly. "Or perhaps, it's Apollo seducing a mortal. Difficult to tell. The lyre's the key, you see."

"Do you think there are carvings like this one behind all these mirrors," asked Lizzy, snapping a picture of Orpheus' smirking face.

"Yeah," said Will. "I wanted to take all the panels down to check, but Caroline didn't want to. I think she rather likes the mirrors."

Lizzy snorted. "Since when has anything Caroline said been a good idea?"

"She broke the mirror," Will admitted, grinning ruefully. "She chucked a tennis racket at Charlie."

"It's _your_ house," Lizzy reminded him.

"Yes, it is my house," said Will with a soft smile, rubbing at the strings of Orpheus' lyre. "This house is the best thing about being a Darcy.—If there _are_ carvings under them all, then they'll be like this one—buried under so many layers of paint that you can barely see the original work. I suppose I'll have to hire professionals for this, too. I'm afraid to do more here, you see, with chipping away the paint. Sometimes I get impatient and accidentally gouge the wood. That's all right for paneling, but I'd hate to ruin something like this."

Lizzy snapped a picture of the pride on Will's face, smiling a little. "Your aunt hasn't been here, has she?" Lizzy asked.

"No, not for years," Will said slowly, and Lizzy knew he was restraining himself from asking why.

"Just don't let her bully you into using Collins as your renovator," Lizzy advised.

"God, no," Will said sharply, looking horrified at the thought of Collins invading his hall. "Aunt Catherine believes Pemberley to be beyond saving anyway."

"Well, that's lucky," commented Lizzy.

"Yes," Will replied, watching Lizzy.

They were silent for a moment, and Will leaned so close that Lizzy stepped back. "Are you all right?" he asked with such obvious tenderness that Lizzy didn't know what to say. "Did the bus also trouble you? I can find you a place to sleep as well."

"I'm fine," Lizzy said and sighed. "I'm just a little weirded out."

Will grinned, because he knew just what would cheer her up. "Giana's darkroom, then?"

4.

Although Lizzy herself wouldn't agree, Will thought Lizzy "weirded out" was good. It was, for instance, an improvement over Lizzy pissed off. And it was infinitely preferable to Lizzy leaving. Lizzy at Pemberley was, in Will's opinion, a _very_ good thing. It meant that Lizzy that Lizzy was still in his life. It meant that he still had a chance.

He was pretty sure that he'd have a better chance if Lizzy wasn't distracted with cataloguing what the Darcy's were keeping in their darkroom.

"_Whoa_," Lizzy said, looking in the cabinet above the long trough sink. "You have a lot of fixer. Was your sister worried about stuff fading away?"

"_That's_ who I wanted to show you!" Will said triumphantly. He pulled out his cell phone, called his sister, and discovered where Giana was ("I'm in the _kitchen_. Where are _you_?"), and then he immediately ushered Lizzy in that direction. When she protested and reached for her film, Will dragged her out of the darkroom and said, "Come on--it's teatime. You can't very well work during tea, can you?"

"I bet you've worked through teatime thousands of times," Lizzy grumbled.

"Not at Pemberley," Will said.

"Who says _I_ have to follow Pemberley's rules?" Lizzy asked lifting two skeptical brows.

"Well, you _are_ my guest, Lizzy," Will reminded her, guiding her down the hall.

Shaking his hand off her shoulder, Lizzy checked her watch and grimaced. "Thirty-seven minutes."

"Till what?" Will asked, thinking that the tour had specified a time to meet.

"That's how long since I've been your 'guest,'" Lizzy told him, "and you're already enforcing the _my house, my rules_ policy."

"That isn't true," Will said sharply.

"Sure, it is," said Lizzy with a sharp grin. "And also very indicative of your control issues."

Will stopped in the middle of the hall. "Would you like to meet my sister or not?"

"Oh," said Lizzy in a much more respectful tone, "we're going to meet your sister?"

"Didn't I say so?" Will snapped.

"_No_, you didn't," Lizzy told him sharply. "You dragged me out of the darkroom without explaining anything."

"Oh," Will said, suddenly understanding Lizzy's irritation and entered the kitchen.

"Hello, Master Will," said Auntie Cindy from the stovetop.

"Will!" cried Giana, jumping up from the long wooden table by the window. "Where _were_ you? Auntie Cindy says you've been home for practically an hour already and you still haven't come to _see_ me, and if that's not a reason for us both to hook up the to X-Box so I can _kick_ your sorry ass, I don't know what is."

Grinning, Will pried his sister's arms from his neck so he could get a better look at her. He scowled when he saw what she was wearing. "Giana, not the bloody overalls again?"

"Language, Master Will," Auntie Cindy told him.

"And who am I to impress, then?" Giana snapped, coloring.

"Me, probably," said Lizzy, leaning to grin around Will's shoulder. Giana squeaked and let Will go so she could cover her mouth with both hands. "I don't care, though. Hi, by the way. I'm Lizzy Bennet."

"Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet?" Giana said.

"Yep," said Lizzy with a suspicious sidelong glance at Will. He grinned back, enjoying watching Lizzy trying to gauge how much he'd told his sister. "You must be Georgiana Darcy."

"Giana," Will corrected. "Never Georgiana. Or Georgie, despite what Caroline Bingley may tell you."

"Nice to meet you, Giana," Lizzy said, and Giana nodded, blushing.

"A pleasure to see you again, Miss Bennet," said Auntie Cindy.

"_You_," snapped Lizzy, turning to the stovetop and pointing an accusatory finger at Cynthia Reynolds. "_You_ are on my People-to-Watch-Out-For list, you sneak."

"Very well, Miss Bennet," said Auntie Cindy with a nod and a smirk.

"Don't 'Miss Bennet' me; it'll just piss me off," Lizzy said; she pointed to the tea tray Aunty Cindy was preparing. "Hey, you need help with that?" Lizzy asked, crossing the room.

"She's so pretty, Will," Giana whispered, watching Lizzy help arrange scones. Will grinned, embarrassed to feel pride, and Giana hit him. "Why the hell didn't you _tell_ me she was here when you called me? I might've managed to change into something nicer."

"I thought you'd fancy a surprise, but if I'd known—"

"Master Will, when do Mr. and Miss Bingley arrive?" interrupted Aunty Cindy. "I'll need to prepare their rooms."

"In the next few days," Will said with a grimace. "I've got to drive a car to town for them."

"Give them the one that just broke down on you," Lizzy said, taking the tea tray from Aunty Cindy with a grin.

"Yes, but then poor Charlie would be forced to endure hours of Caroline's bitching," Will reminded her.

"Maybe Caroline has a hidden talent for car engines," Lizzy said setting the tray down. "You never know."

"You'd just like to see her covered in grease," Will said with a shy smile.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose as she took a seat at the table, directly across from him, almost as if she didn't feel safe unless there were four feet of wood between them. "It'd make for a good picture. Can you imagine her expression?" Lizzy said with another grin. Giana sat in the chair next to Lizzy, perching on the edge of her seat and crossing her ankles. "Are you a photographer too?" Lizzy asked Giana.

"Not really," said Giana, taking a teacup.

"You've got a darkroom and I _almost _got to use it," Lizzy said, shooting a smirk at Will, who smiled back a little, not sure whether to be annoyed or grateful that she'd caught him.

"It was a Christmas present," Giana said, turning slowly to grin at her brother, "but I don't think it designed with me in—"

"I briefly entertained the idea of taking up photography myself," Will interrupted stiffly. He had not installed the dark room with Lizzy in mind.

"You don't have the patience," Giana said. "You'd break your camera."

"I also heard a rumor that you're a pianist," Lizzy said, taking a scone and buttering it. "A really good one."

"I'm all right," Giana said modestly, but she was smiling.

"You're a far cry from just 'all right,' and you know it," Will told his sister. Lizzy was watching him with that same shrewd look. He felt he needed to say something else. "You two should get to know each other better," he said.

Lizzy looked at him as if she'd roll her eyes, if she manage it without offending Giana.

"I—" Giana said and stopped.

"You might see a film," Will suggested.

"Or maybe go shopping," Lizzy said, and Will looked at her sharply.

Giana looked up sharply too, but she was beaming. "Shopping, yes, that'd be _lovely_, Giana said, and Will frowned, wondering whether he'd missed some sort of female code. Giana liked shopping all right, but Lizzy seemed like she would hate it.

"Tomorrow?" Lizzy suggested.

"Morning," agreed Giana.

"Should we meet at my place or yours?" Lizzy asked. "Wait—I don't even know where I'm staying."

"You could stay here," Will suggested hopefully, but Lizzy sent him such a reproachful glare that he smiled back sheepishly.

"You're staying at the Lambton Inn," Giana told Lizzy. "That's where all the tourists stay. Are we going to be interfering with your travel plans?"

Lizzy shook her head. "The tours gives us a couple free days, so I can just meet you here."

"That doesn't make any sense," Giana said. "You don't know your way; I'll meet you at…" Giana tutted under her breath, thinking. "Eight, perhaps? No, nine—I don't want to get up for eight."

Lizzy nodded. "Nine," she agreed and jumped as Aunty Cindy appeared at her elbow and handed over Lizzy's camera bag. "Uh…thanks."

"I thought you'd be wanting it," said Aunty Cindy, "as the bus is nearly ready to leave."

"What?" cried Lizzy, looking out the window to see a line of tourists lined up in a queue outside the bus. She tumbled out of her seat. "Oh, fuck."

"You aunt and uncle have already been informed," Aunty Cindy told Lizzy.

"Thank you," Lizzy said with obvious relief.

"I'll see you out," Will said standing.

"You don't have to," Lizzy told him, marching toward the door.

"Yes, I do," said Will, following her. "Otherwise, you'll find yourself lost."

"Right," said Lizzy, turning back to wave over his shoulder at Giana and Aunty Cindy. "Nice to meet you both and see you tomorrow, Giana. Thanks," she told Will, who held the door open for her.

He matched her quickened pace easily, but he still said, "The bus won't leave without you. Your aunt and uncle will have them wait."

"Right," said Lizzy and slowed down just a little. He noticed she couldn't make herself look at him.

"You'll need to go to London for shopping," Will told her.

Lizzy snorted. "Why? We're just going to pick up a few things to tide Giana over,a nd there are shops in town, aren't there?"

"One of them belongs to Jack Wickham's mother," Will explained.

Will glanced at Lizzy to see her reply, watched her open her mouth twice without saying anything before finally coming out with an "Oh."

"It's nice of you to take my sister out," Will said hesitantly.

"Well, of _course_," said Lizzy with a grin. "I wouldn't let Caroline tear her apart."

"She wouldn't—not in my house," Will said sharply.

Lizzy raised one skeptical brow. "Don't be so sure. You know how Caroline is about clothes."

Will considered. "Those overalls are quite big," he said slowly.

"Yeah, but I was referring to her top. Didn't you see how it was cutting into her underarms?" Lizzy said. "I wonder how long she's been dealing with a wardrobe she's outgrown."

"Ah," said Will.

"You haven't noticed," Lizzy commented with a knowing smirk.

It annoyed Will that Lizzy could only manage to look him in the eye when she was laughing at him. "She can't have outgrown _everything_."

"She must've," said Lizzy, wrinkling her nose. "No girl wears a bra that digs into her like that if she doesn't have to."

Will grimaced. "I believe you would say that was too much information."

Lizzy shrugged, laughing. "Just trying to convince you how desperate her situation is. Why else do you think I'd take her shopping?" she said grinning.

Will looked at her, his face carefully blank, and Lizzy's grin dropped away as her eyes hardened. "I see," said Lizzy flatly, and the steel in her tone made Will wary. "Well, Mr. Darcy, why don't I just promise you right now that I won't let Giana buy me one thing with your money. Is that enough or should we get it in writing, too?"

"I'm sorry, Lizzy," Will said. They were in the front hall now. Lizzy knew her way from this point forward. Will pulled her to a stop with a hand on her forearm so she'd look at him again before she left.

He felt the hardness in her eyes deep in his chest. "Not everyone is after your money," she snapped.

"I'm _sorry_," Will said again. "Really, I am."

Lizzy sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. "You should stay here," she advised. "One of the tourists might notice Will Darcy looks a lot like Will Darlington."

"I don't want you to leave and me never to see you again," he told her.

"Relax, Will—I _have_ to come back," Lizzy said, patting the front pocket of her camera bag to show him it was empty. "Your Cynthia Reynolds kidnapped all my film."

"Shit—it'll be in the darkroom," Will said, glancing back down the hall. "I'll run for it if you like."

"It's fine," Lizzy said, and Will looked back to her. She had that measuring look back in her face, but she wasn't scowling anymore. She laughed, so suddenly that Will was startled.

"Good God—_what_?" he asked.

"I still can't believe you called your sister to figure out where she was," Lizzy said. "I don't think I'm ever going to forget that."

"It isn't unusual," Will said slowly, watching Lizzy's face.

Lizzy laughed. "Sure, it is—when you're both in the same house."

Will shrugged. "It is a rather large house."

"It's a _beautiful_ house," Lizzy replied grinning.

"Thank you," Will said quietly, only just beginning to smile back when a megaphoned voice called, "Elizabeth Bennet—if you are still on the premises, please return to the bus _immediately_."

"Fuck!" cried Lizzy, bursting through the front door and running down the stairs.

Will held the door open with his forearm, watching her go. "Goodbye!" he called, mostly to see if she'd look back.

Lizzy threw him a smile and a short wave before running across the lawn.

Back in the kitchen, where Aunty Cindy was trying to teach Giana how to make pasta before she went off to university in the fall, Will watched his sister, realizing how much she'd grown in the past year. She hadn't grown taller, but when he'd left, her figure had been almost as thin as Caroline Bingley's. Now, she had the fuller figure of someone like their mother once had. Or even Lizzy.

"That must be uncomfortable," Will said, tugging on her shirt.

Aunty Cindy smiled a little, and as she stirred the spaghetti sauce, Giana hunched her shoulders forward uncomfortably. "_Now_ you notice."

"I didn't," Will said. "It was Lizzy. You should've told me."

His sister regarded him thoughtfully. "You_ really _love her, don't you?" she asked, and when Will only smiled, slowly and almost shy, she patted him on the head. "_Poor_ Will. I was serious, though, about kicking your ass—fancy an X-box duel?"

5.

Lizzy hated shopping. She'd gotten enough of fashion and clothes when she was a model, and she really hadn't gotten back to the point where she enjoyed figuring out what to wear. Halfway through a morning of giving Giana a second opinion on every outfit she tried on, Lizzy was dragging her feet and ready for a nap. She'd been tired when she and Giana had walked from the tour group's hotel to the train station, but after a train ride, three boutiques, a department store, and a lingerie shop, Lizzy was ready to blow the rest of her trip's budget on a hotel room for her to sleep in. Giana suggested a coffee break instead, which was almost as good and would've been her first choice if she'd known that they sold coffee in England. ("Of course," Giana replied, with a sharp scowl uncannily similar to her brother's. "Do you not have _tea_ in the States?") With their bags in a circle around them and their drinks steaming on the table between them, Lizzy was consoling Giana, who'd gone up two bra sizes without realizing it.

"It's perfectly normal to be growing at your age," Lizzy said. She was trying very hard not to laugh, but she hoped Giana hadn't noticed that.

"Yeah, but it isn't _normal_ to completely _skip_ a bloody size, is it?" Giana said, irritably puffing on her tea.

"I'm sure you're not the only one," Lizzy said.

"I suppose not," Giana said, hunching her shoulders. She looked up at Lizzy thoughtfully. "You can laugh if you like. It is rather funny."

Lizzy grinning slowly and shook her head. "I just don't see how you could've let it go on so long, even if you didn't want to say anything. I can't see Cynthia Reynolds keeping quiet."

"She said something to _me _back in March," Giana told Lizzy slowly. "We were only waiting for Will to notice. Thank you, Lizzy, for taking me out. Will tries to be both brother and sister, but he's hopeless about this sort of thing. He's not quite someone I'd choose to take with me when I need to find myself some underthings."

Lizzy wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so she shrugged smiling and said, "Next time you could order some things online. Just to tide you over."

"I couldn't," Giana told her.

"Sure, you could," Lizzy said grinning. "You type in Victoriasecret. com or whatever, pick out a style, and hit order."

Giana was watching her with quiet dark eyes, heavily lashed and narrowed in thought. It bothered Lizzy that she saw so much of Will Darcy in his sister's face.

"You want to tell me something," Lizzy guessed.

"Yes," Giana said, pressing her lips together as if trying to decide.

"I'm not going to like it, am I?" Lizzy said.

"No," Giana said softly.

Lizzy took a long draught of latte to steady herself. "Okay, I'm ready."

"You must _promise_ me you won't get angry with Will."

Lizzy's face hardened. "I can't promise that."

"Promise me that you'll _try_ to see if from his perspective then," Giana said, and when Lizzy didn't answer, she added, "Please."

Lizzy sighed. "Okay."

It was still another minute before Giana spoke. Lizzy had noticed this over the course of the morning—Giana thought before she spoke, she thought _a lot _before she spoke—and Lizzy had almost gotten used to it. She turned a spoon over and over on the table, waiting for the younger girl to speak.

"Will said he told you about Jack," Giana said uncertainly.

"Yes," replied Lizzy slowly, wondering what Will had told Giana about the circumstances of telling Lizzy about Jack.

"I was rather _naïve_ then," Giana said evenly. She was looking into her tea so she wouldn't have to look Lizzy in the eye. "It was summer, Will was away, Aunty Cindy was in Birmingham with her new husband—"

Lizzy flinched, trying to take in the fact that Cynthia Reynolds was married.

"I was rather bored," Giana admitted. "Jack was in town, helping his mother. He visited me _every_ day. I thought at the time that it was because I was alone most of the day, without Will or Aunty Cindy at home." She fingered the rim of her cup before pulling the tea bag out and setting it on a napkin. "I think now he was _probably_ coming to see Pemberley. He knew about Will in B.F.D., you see, and he believed Will would probably leave it for Hollywood and that Pemberley would be my estate. There's a lot of money in real estate now; Pemberley's lands are rather extensive—"

"Wickham was going to marry you for Pemberley?" Lizzy asked, aghast.

Giana nodded. "Yes. The land."

"How _old_ were you?" Lizzy said.

"Fifteen."

"You weren't legally old enough to…" Lizzy drifted off and waited for Giana to think.

"I believe Jack thought our marriage would be designed to save my reputation," Giana said delicately. Lizzy paused for a moment, before realizing that she meant Wickham was planning a shotgun wedding, and then she didn't know what to say. Giana continued, "While we were _together_, I allowed Jack the use of the Darcy accounts. He acquired quite a bit of debt, more than I thought was _possible_ in such a small area here. It was terrible enough that the Pemberley estate might've gone bankrupt if B.F.D. hadn't done so well. We might've had to sell it."

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said, because it seemed like a thing she should say to this blank-faced girl, telling Lizzy of her life's tragedy with barely a tremble in her voice.

Giana shrugged, smiling a little. "It was a _long_ time ago. After that, however, Will limited my control of Pemberley's finances, even the half that belongs to me."

"What do you mean?" Lizzy asked quietly, even though she was starting to guess.

"I haven't _any_ sort of credit," Giana said, with Will's dark-eyed scare. "No cards or anything. Aunty Cindy has, but I don't. I've paid for it _all_ of this around us with debit cards Will gave me this morning."

"How old are you now?" Lizzy asked sharply.

"Eighteen."

She looked Giana firmly in the eye to tell her "It wasn't your fault."

"I understand _that_."

"Will doesn't," Lizzy snorted.

"He does," Giana said quietly. She looked at her hands and then looked back at Lizzy. "He thinks he's protecting me."

Lizzy was shaking. It might have been anger, or it might have been something else. "From what? The big, bad financial world?"

"Will believes that anyone without honorable intentions wouldn't _stay_ after they realize that I have no access to any money," Giana said.

"He _what?_" Lizzy snapped.

"You promised that you wouldn't get mad," Giana said uncertainly.

"That is not what I promised," Lizzy said, but she forced herself to calm down anyway. "It's creepy, you know. Most older brothers don't make their little sisters completely dependent on them for money."

There was a hard glint in Giana's eyes that told Lizzy she'd crossed a line. "Most elder brothers don't inherit his father's debts and a sister to raise at nineteen either," Giana said with a sharp scowl.

"He's still wrong," Lizzy said.

Giana held her scowl for another minute, before sighing and slumping against the back of her chair. "Yes, but you know Will. He's not the most _perceptive_ of brothers. I don't think he even realizes that I've passed the drinking age yet."

Lizzy snorted, thinking to herself that Will Darcy seriously needed a talking-to. Maybe a psychologist should get involved to sort out how screwed up Will was about money.

"Lizzy, I'd like you to talk to him," Giana said. "Please. On my behalf."

Lizzy choked on the coffee she was sipping, and she stared at Giana as she coughed into a napkin to clear her throat. "It should be _you_ telling him," Lizzy said hoarsely.

"He won't listen to me," Giana replied.

The earnestness in Giana's eyes scared Lizzy, It made her so much harder to refuse. "You shouldn't be afraid of your own brother, Giana," Lizzy said softly, and when Giana just stared at her with a carefully blank face, Lizzy looked out the window, watching people pass. "He'll think I'm meddling or something."

"Not if you tell him I asked you to," Giana replied, reaching for Lizzy's hand to regain her attention.

Lizzy's jaw was clenched, but her eyes were unsteady. "He'll be disappointed that you couldn't tell him yourself."

"I'll handle it, I promise," Giana said, and she squeezed Lizzy's hand. "_Please_, Lizzy. He _respects_ your opinion. He'll listen to you."

Lizzy sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm not making any promises."

Giana gasped, mouth open and smiling, both hands clasping Lizzy's. "Thank you, Lizzy!"

"I haven't said I'd do it," Lizzy reminded her.

"Yes, but you _will_," Giana said, beaming. "I know you will. I feel I know you already—Will's told me so much about you."

Lizzy wrinkled her nose, because she _really_ didn't want to hear this. She'd rather go back to shopping than hear this.

"I was the one who _first _told Will he loved you, by the way," said Giana, her grin merciless. "It was all the way back at Christmas, and at every ski lift, he kept bringing up this photographer in Vickroot who put him in his place." Giana laughed suddenly, a wilder version of Will's deep chuckle. "You should've _seen_ Caroline's face when I told him he must be in love with you. Will denied it then, of course."

It was too much, and Lizzy groaned and buried her head in her arms. "I wish he still would," she muttered to herself, but Giana heard.

"I very much _doubt_ that," said Giana, her impish grin widening. "In my experience, it's always very flattering to hear 'I love you' from a man you're attracted to."

"I'm not attracted to him!" Lizzy cried, looking up.

"That's not what Fitz said," Giana told Lizzy. "He said there was a poolside scene that he felt he should excuse himself from so that you and Will could throw yourselves passionately into each other's arms."

"It wasn't like that!" Lizzy protested.

"He also said that you were _very_ good at denial," Giana said. "Even better than Will."

"Is there a let's-get-Will-and-Lizzy-together conspiracy going on that I should know about?" Lizzy snapped.

"Oh, I thought you already knew about it," Giana said, and she laughed when she saw Lizzy's face. "I quite like this. You're even blushing."

"I am not," said Lizzy.

"No?" asked Giana, smirking. "I suppose you'll next try to tell me that you don't like us Darcy's a bit, which accounts for why you spend so much time with us."

"Just leave me alone," Lizzy moaned, dropping her head back to the table.

"You can tell that to my brother," said Giana. "He just walked through the door."

Lizzy's head snapped back up. "_What_?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Giana said, sipping her tea with her little finger primly raised. "Will decided to drive a car to the Bingley's today. I told him to _meet _us here."

"Bullshit," Lizzy said, because it wasn't possible that she'd be forced to spend time with Will Darcy unexpectedly two days in a row.

"Hello," said a cheery voice above Lizzy's head. She turned in her seat, mouth open. Will's grin faded a little, when he saw her expression. "Lizzy, you seem surprised. Giana, didn't I tell you I'd come?"

"Oh, bloody hell," said Giana, snapping her fingers dramatically. "I forgot until _just_ now."

"Oh, my God," Lizzy said, looking aghast at Giana. "You're like a mini-Fitz."

Giana laughed, and Will grimaced. "I hope not," said Will, as he pulled up a chair and took a seat. "One is quite enough."

"You're just mad because I tricked you so easily," Giana told Lizzy smugly.

"Giana tricked you?" Will asked. "Giana, what'd you do?"

"Don't let her fool you," Lizzy told Will, narrowing her eyes at Giana. "The shy and awkward thing is just an act."

"It's not an act," Will explained. "She just overcomes it much quicker than I do."

"Around _certain_ people. I'm sure I'd make an ass of myself in front of someone I was in love with as well," Giana said and started giggling again when Will and Lizzy turned to her with identical scowls.

6.

By the time they finished shopping for Giana, all three of them understood that any relationship that might happen between Will and Lizzy would be filled with ridiculous, stubborn fights.

"I still think we should've gotten that dress," Will said scowling, while they waited in line at the Harold's checkout.

"And I still say that she shouldn't buy something that she's not comfortable in," Lizzy replied, struggling to manage the mess of clothes and hangers she'd offered to help Giana with.

"But it looked quite pretty on her," Will protested, snatching up a handful of hangers and lifting half of Lizzy's burden off her hands.

"Well, it doesn't look quite _as_ pretty on the hanger, which is where it'll spend the rest of its days, since Giana won't _wear it_," Lizzy said irritably.

"Why won't she wear it?" Will asked.

"Will, the neckline came down to here," Giana reminded him, gesturing to a spot a few inches above her navel, "and it was _red_."

"What's the matter with red?" Will asked, shaking one of Giana's new shirts into some sort of order.

"All right, let me put it in a different way," Lizzy said to Will. "Say your personal dresser made you try on some tight, leather pants and a sparkly shirt, and say it looked really nice on you—would you wear it?"

"That isn't the same thing," Will said.

"Sure, it is—you'd be projecting an image of yourself that you didn't like," Lizzy explained. "Same as Giana. A cleavage-bearing red dress is not how she wants the world to see her."

"Frankly, I'm a little disturbed that it's how _you_ want the world to see _me_," Giana said with a half-smile.

"Perhaps you'll grow to want to wear this red dress," he suggested.

"Will, now you're just being an idiot," his sister informed him.

"Before that happens, she'll _out_-grow the stupid dress," Lizzy pointed out.

"Perhaps she'll have a need for it and not have the time to purchase such a dress," Will said.

"Giana, can you think of any upcoming occasion where you'd wear this dress?" Lizzy asked.

Giana smiled at Lizzy, her eyes glancing towards her brother. "No."

"So," Lizzy told Will, "you want to buy your sister a dress she doesn't like on the off-chance that she'll someday want have a _reason_ to wear it, _want_ to wear it, and still _fits_ into it?"

"It's _my_—" Will started, but Lizzy interrupted him, murmuring to his sister, "This is the part where he tells us it's _his_ money and he'll do what he likes with it."

Will scowled, pretending that Lizzy hadn't taken the words from his mouth. It was their turn, and huffing out his displeasure, he slammed Giana's new clothes on the counter with such a force the cashier dropped her pen and took a tiny step back.

"Shame on you, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy scolded, laying her pile of clothes on top of his. She squinted at the cashier's nametag and smiled. "Sorry, Barbara. He's just upset because we're not letting him waste his money."

"It's quite all right," said Barbara the cashier, pulling a hanger out of a silk shirt, scanning its tag, and folding it.

Will retreated back to the women's coat section, while Giana and Lizzy set about trying to help Barbara the cashier with the heap of clothes and hangers they'd just dumped on her counter. Several minutes later, Will returned with a pale blue trench coat that Lizzy'd tried on an hour before.

"What are you doing, Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy asked him sharply.

"Buying you a coat, Miss Bennet," Will said with a scowl.

"No, you're not," Lizzy said.

"Yes, I bloody well am," said Will. "It doesn't make a bit of sense that you blow your budget on something that I can purchase more easily."

"There is a big difference between _you_ buying me a coat I really like and _me_ buying me a coat I really like," Lizzy snapped.

Will shook his head once, still scowling.

"Besides, I know you're only trying to buy yourself out of trouble for pissing me off yesterday," Lizzy said.

"Will, you _already_ pissed her off, did you?" Giana asked, obviously amused.

"But you don't need to, since you already apologized," Lizzy said, staring Will down.

Giana gasped. "Will _apologized_? _Will?_"

"Yes," Lizzy said with a small smile, as she glanced at him. "Twice." She could tell Will was still angry. His nostrils were flaring a little and his jaw was clenched. "Besides, that's not even my size," Lizzy added with a grin.

"What _is_ your size?" Will asked exasperated.

"I'm not telling," Lizzy replied in a sing-song. After a moment of watching Will and Lizzy stare each other down, the cashier Barbara asked, a little apprehensively (it was the last thing left on the counter), "The coat, too?"

"No," Lizzy told her firmly, just as Will said, "One in each size, please."

Barbara froze with her hand on the coat's hanger, not sure what to do. Giana snorted, two hands clapped over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"Good thinking there, Mr. Darcy—ten of a two-hundred dollar coat. That'll be two grand you'll waste," Lizzy told him. "If you're that eager to spend money, you could give it to charity or to poor Barbara here, who you've been picking on. At least that way we wouldn't have to lug three extra bags around London."

"We deal in pounds here at Harold's, miss," Barbara told Lizzy. "Or Euros."

"Well, then, that's even worse," Lizzy said, smirking at Will. "What d'you say, Mr. Darcy? Spend an obscene amount of money being stubborn, or leave the coat here?"

Will pulled his money clip out of his back pocket. "I'm afraid we won't need the coat this evening," he told Barbara, quietly sliding a credit card across the counter.

"Lizzy-four. Will-one," said Giana.

Lizzy picked up a handful of bags and shrugged with a smile, and Giana giggled.

Will had wanted his sister and Lizzy to bond over this shopping venture, but he hadn't counted on them getting closer by mocking _him_. He signed one receipt quickly, slipped the other into his pocket, grabbed a few bags, and walked away.

Behind him, he heard Lizzy say, "Thank you, Barbara."

"Good luck with him, miss," the cashier replied, and Will threw open the door and strode out.

He was aware of Lizzy and Giana hurrying behind him a few seconds later. "Will you slow _down_?" Lizzy snapped. "Not all of us are blessed with as long legs as you, and both Giana and I are carrying more bags."

Will stopped in his tracks just long enough to snatch the rest of the bags from the hands of an astonished Giana and an annoyed Lizzy before striding away in great, long steps. He heard Lizzy snort. "Do you have your cell phone, Giana? We'll just call him when he stops being ridiculous."

Will wheeled around and returned to them. "I am _not_ ridiculous," he snapped.

"You sure?" Lizzy asked, arms crossed. "You're the one practically running down the sidewalk with huge bunches of bags in each hand."

"You also left this," Giana said, holding out the credit card he'd just used to pay for the Harold's purchase.

"_And_ you signed the receipt as Will Darlington," Lizzy said. "You're probably safe, though. I don't think Barbara can read your handwriting."

Will lowered a handful of bags to the sidewalk and took the credit card from Giana so that he could return it to his money clip. "I'm not ridiculous," he told Lizzy quietly. "I only seem it around you."

"You certainly _are_ ridiculous," Giana told him grinning, but she looked away when both Will and Lizzy scowled at her.

"You're only ridiculous when you don't get your way—"

"Don't make me sound like such a spoiled child," Will protested irritably.

"—and with me, you don't always get your way," Lizzy continued.

Will snorted. "_No_, I certainly don't."

Lizzy grinned and picked up most of the bags he'd just dropped. "It's not a big deal anyway. I'm just going to look the coat up online and buy it when it goes on sale."

"But what if they no longer have your size?" Will asked, as Giana took over her share of bags and they continued down the street at a much slower pace.

Lizzy shrugged. "Then, it's not meant to be. All the best things are meant to be, you know. There are other coats in the world, after all."

Will sighed.

Giana giggled. "Lizzy-six; Will-one."

"Would you stop playing as a bloody scoreboard, Giana?" Will snapped.

"Sore loser," Giana replied with a smirk.

"_Yes_, actually," Will said. "And I'd like to know where my _one_ point came from, because as far as I can tell, my opinion hasn't once counted for anything today."

"Well, Lizzy's _here_, isn't she?" Giana said, and at this point, Lizzy felt herself blush, and a slow grin grew on Will's face.

7.

Lizzy knew Will was misunderstanding things. She was just hanging around for Giana—just helping with her wardrobe—that was all, and she'd told Will as much. There w She was even careful to keep Giana between them as they were walking so that they didn't accidentally touch, and she made sure to sit across from him when they were seated at dinner so her hand would never have the opportunity to brush his. None of that keep that look off Will's face, the one where he seemed to expect something from her. She avoided his gaze over their pizza and cokes, but after dinner, she jumped because his fingers brushed hers as he handed her some shopping bags. He beamed during all of the walk to the train station, especially when they stopped a moment to dance in front of the club _Swingers_.

It doesn't mean anything, she wanted to tell him, as she felt her face brighten. It was just surprise. She couldn't actually say that, because Giana would grin and giggle, and everything seem so much more important.

Will was humming as they walked the last block and a half to the train station, and when she recognized it, Lizzy glanced over at him. "Cut that out," she said.

"What?" Giana said startled.

"I know what Will's humming," Lizzy said.

"What's Will humming?" Giana asked.

Will obliged by singing aloud:

_Take a good look around you_

_Take a good look you're bound to see_

_That you and me were meant to be for each other_

_Silly girl._

"The Beatles, isn't it?" Giana said to Lizzy.

_Hold your hand out you silly girl see what you've done_

_When you find yourself in the thick of it_

_Help yourself to a bit of what is all around you_

_Silly girl._

Lizzy nodded grimly. She couldn't look him in the face while he was singing to her. "Martha, My Dear."

"Aww, you get to be 'Lizzy, My Dear,'" Giana teased, and Lizzy scowled, feeling her face flame red and not being able to stop it.

_Lizzy my dear—you have always been my inspiration_

_Please_

_Be good to me—Lizzy, my love_

_Don't forget me—Lizzy, my dear._

"You sound rather nice, Will," Giana told her brother. "Do you think Aunt Catty would let you record a cover of the Beatles? Does it count as _literature_, do you think, Lizzy?"

Lizzy shook her head mutely and walked ahead, reminding herself that it could always more awkward. He could've sung one of his own songs. Behind her, she heard Giana say, "You'd better stop, Will. If her face gets any brighter, I think they might mistake her for a traffic light or something."

Lizzy was annoyed when Will caught up to her with a few quick strides.

"What music do you listen to?" Will asked, bending towards her.

"Oh, B.F.D. definitely," Lizzy replied, snickering. "They're all I listen to."

Giana laughed, and Will frowned and said, "That wasn't what I meant."

"No, what you mean was if I'd heard your single yet," Lizzy said scowling.

"I suppose you have, then," Will said.

Giana looked from Lizzy to Will and back again, grinning so broadly that Lizzy could've counted her teeth.

When Lizzy chose not to respond, he said, "Well?"

"You know it doesn't work like that with me," Lizzy said sharply. "You're going to have to actually ask."

"All right, then," Will said. "What did you think of the song I wrote you, Lizzy?"

Lizzy stumbled, mouth open, into Giana, who pushed her back on her feet. "I don't think you weren't _actually_ supposed to ask, Will," Giana said grinning.

Lizzy shook her head. "You were supposed to get all quiet for while so that I'd have time to figure out something to _say_."

"I apologize," Will said with a carefully blank face, but Lizzy knew he was laughing at her. She'd just witnessed the emergence of a third personality—Teasing Will. "I'll strive to read your mind more carefully next time."

"Well, I _liked_ it, if that helps," Lizzy said, and again she couldn't force herself to look him in the eye. The closest she got was his shoulder.

"Yes, but that isn't what you thought of it," Giana pointed out.

"Answer me later, if you like," Will said. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

Lizzy looked at him then, smiling. "Thank you," she said, surprised that he'd be so patient.

"Don't thank him quite yet," Giana said dryly. "He's trying to make sure we see you at Pemberley tomorrow."

Lizzy turned a harsh scowl towards Will, who shrugged. "You were planning on coming anyway," he pointed out. "For your film."

"Yeah, but that was before she found out that Caroline and Charlie are coming tomorrow," Giana said.

"Tomorrow? Oh, _shit_," Lizzy grumbled, and Giana laughed.

After a moment, Will asked, "You _are _still coming, aren't you?"

"I guess so," Lizzy said. "I pretty much have to. You should have seen how excited Sam and Diana were when they realized they were getting a couple days to themselves."

The train station was crowded, of course, in the warm summer evening. Streams of people covered every meter of the floor, which wouldn't normally be a problem for Lizzy Bennet (she had plenty experience on the New York subway after all). Today, though, Lizzy had to navigate through the crowd with two handfuls of bags (that were getting heavier by the second), as she tried to outrun the Darcy siblings (whose long legs gave them an unfair advantage). Lizzy struggled forward until a gaggle of schoolchildren—herded by a tall, thin man with a nametag that read _St. Mark's Academy for Boys_—cut her off so violently that she fell backwards into a billboard for Big Ben tours.

"Bloody hell," Lizzy snapped.

Giana caught up first, smirking. "Lizzy, you've been in England too long."

"Are you all right?" Will asked Lizzy.

"I'm just _pissed_," Lizzy snapped, glaring at him.

Will dropped his eyes to the floor, smiling apologetically. Then, he grinned and pried several shopping bags out of her hands.

"Hey," Lizzy snapped, reaching for them. "I can carry those."

Will walked ahead, turning over his shoulder to grin back at Lizzy. "It's not a matter of you carrying them, but one of you carrying them and keeping pace."

"Don't be an asshole," Lizzy said, as she and Giana hurried to catch up.

"Forgive me," Will said still grinning. "I was under the impression that carrying a lady's parcels was the act of a gentleman."

"Don't be smug either—I _saw_ that," Lizzy told Giana suddenly.

"What?" asked Giana, who'd just been admiring the figure of a fellow commuter, a moderately tall fellow with dimples and questionable facial hair.

"You know what," Lizzy teased with a grin. "At least go for one without sideburns."

"What happened?" Will asked Lizzy.

"Hormones," Lizzy said, unable to meet Will's eyes. "Okay, Giana—look to three o'clock. Broad shoulders, red rugby shirt, and dark hair. See him?"

"Yeah," Giana said, trying to glance covertly to her right and failing utterly.

"He was totally checking you out a second ago," Lizzy said.

Giana looked at him again over her shoulder. "He was _not_."

Lizzy laughed to see Giana blushing. "Sure, he was."

"Will you both please refrain from such talk in my presence?" Will said curtly.

"Jealous, are you?" replied his sister with a smirk.

"Got anything better to do than people watch?" Lizzy wanted to know.

"You might help me find the track we need," Will told them, glancing around.

"Are we _lost_?" asked Giana, mouth open.

"I am _not_ lost," Will replied with such scorn that Lizzy laughed.

"Excuse me," said a small, young American voice. Giana, Will, and Lizzy all turned to see a red-faced teenage girl, her hair in braids and teeth in braces. She was holding a pen and a small notebook open to a blank page. Her friends lurked four steps away, their hands on the straps of their backpacks and their eyes on Will. "Can I have your autograph?" the first girl asked.

Lizzy glanced at Will quickly. His expression was closed, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. Lizzy tried not to smirk, because he looked more like his pictures than ever.

"Please, Dar?" asked the American girl, thrusting the notebook and pen closer to him.

Lizzy looked from the girl back to Will, laughing.

"I _told_ you," she told Will, poking a finger at his ribs. He winced and turned to her, bewildered. "I _told_ you that you looked like him." To the young American tourist, Lizzy added with a hand on Will's arm, "Thanks. I keep telling him how much he looks that singer—the tall one from B.F.D., right? He never believed me."

"Oh," said the girl, closing her notebook abashedly. "Sorry."

"It's quite all right," Will said with an awkward nod.

Lizzy tried to take her hand away from Will's arm, but he caught hers in his, which made carrying the shopping bags even more awkward. She looked at him sharply and decided he was _definitely_ misunderstanding things.

"There!" Giana announced triumphantly, pointing at a tunnel all the way over at the opposite side of the station. "That's where we're supposed to go."

"Have a good night," Lizzy told the girl, as Will strode off and pulled her along after Giana.

Halfway down the tunnel, when she was sure that they were out of earshot, Giana said, "Lizzy, you're brilliant."

Lizzy shrugged with an amused smirk and pulled her hand out of Will's. "I try," she said, ignoring the look that Will was watching her with.

"Usually Will just growls something like, 'you've got the wrong man' and stomps off, and then we get followed half the night by groupies," Giana explained.

"You're _fantastic_," Will told her smiling, and Lizzy smiled back, suddenly and annoyingly shy.

8.

Lizzy knew exactly what Giana was doing. It involved her dumping most of her bags on Will and Lizzy so that she could run ahead and reserve a compartment. ("A compartment? Like in Harry Potter?" Lizzy asked excitedly, and Giana replied, "How much older than me are you supposed to be?") Of course, this arrangement also meant that Will and Lizzy were left to struggle together with the packages and the other passengers for close to ten minutes. It also meant—since by the time they reached the chosen compartment, Giana herself was stretched along one row of seats, asleep—that Lizzy was left pretty much alone with Will. Which would have been worrisome in itself, but Lizzy really dreaded what Giana wanted her to tell him.

To make matters worse—by the time they'd managed to pack Giana's new wardrobe in the overhead racks and stack it on the remaining seats, Will and Lizzy were squished together in about four feet of seat.

"She did this _on purpose_," Lizzy said, squeezing into the spot between Will and the packages and glaring at Giana's sleeping form.

"Probably," Will said, but he was smiling.

Lizzy's hair was in her eyes, so she raked it back impatiently. It was tangled, she noticed, so she started to fingercomb it, pulling it forward and examining the split ends.

"Are you tired?" Will asked.

"What?" Lizzy said startled.

"You always play with your hair when you're tired," Will explained, and when Lizzy didn't know how to respond (except to quickly take her hands out of her hair), he added, "Would you like the window seat?"

Lizzy shook her head. It was dark anyway. She threw Will guilty, side-long glances, which he returned with a steady stare. When the train jerked and chugged into motion, he said, "Lizzy, do you need to say something?"

She sighed heavily. "You aren't going to like it," Lizzy warned him.

"Probably not," said Will with a sharp sigh, "but I've prepared myself."

"You'll probably be pissed," Lizzy said ruefully.

"I'll try to contain myself," Will told her. "Before you start, however, may I have permission to put my arm on the seat behind you? I'd rather you not believe I'm taking liberties, but this arm has fallen asleep and I think it might give us more space."

Lizzy shrugged, which Will took as approval, and he stretched his arm out behind her head, careful not to touch her.

"It's about Giana—" Lizzy started.

"_Giana_?" Will repeated sharply.

"Yeah, she asked me to talk to you about something," Lizzy said, surprised at his surprise. "What did you think I was going to say?"

Will scratched his nose with the hand that wasn't behind Lizzy and shook his head.

"Oh. _Oh_," Lizzy said. "You thought I was going to address the 'You Told Me' question. Sorry—I can only handle one thing at a time."

Will nodded once and waited.

Lizzy took a deep breath, paused long enough to look him hard in the eye, and asked, "How long are you going to keep Giana dependent on you?"

Will scowled. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Don't give me that shit." He knew exactly what she meant.

"She's eighteen," Will protested. "Most young women aren't independent at sixteen like you."

"She's still old enough to have her own credit card," Lizzy pointed out. "Maybe even her own bank account, too."

Will glanced out the window roughly, and Lizzy knew he was forcing himself to keep his temper in check. "Lizzy, you're prying into affairs that aren't yours to—"

"Well, _duh_," Lizzy interrupted, "and if you're about to allude to next installment of the Wickhead-the-Dickhead saga, you can save it. Giana told me."

"She _told_ you?"

"Yep," Lizzy said with a very small smirk. "Wickham didn't break _her_, Will. Just her heart."

Will looked out the window again, jaw clenched but eyes now more troubled than angry. "There are more men than just Wickham who would try to use her."

"I know, and I'm sure Giana knows, too," Lizzy said. More quietly, she added, "You can't protect her forever, Will. At this point, you'll just end up humiliating her."

"Why—" Will started, scowling, and then stopped.

"Why didn't she tell you herself?" Lizzy finished softly.

Will was silent for a moment, watching his sister sleep, and Lizzy was silent too, watching him. His face was closed again—eyes narrowed, brows fierce, and jaw clenched, but his mouth was half-open, hurt and vulnerable.

"Is she really afraid of me, Lizzy?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so," Lizzy replied. "Of disappointing you, yes."

Will snorted. "This is rather disappointing."

Lizzy shook her head slowly. "You're mostly disappointed that she didn't trust you more," she replied, and Will set his jaw again and refused to answer. "I think she was just scared that you wouldn't take her seriously."

"I—" he said and stopped. "I feel like such a shit," he admitted, scowling sharply and pressing two knuckles to his mouth. "She must have known," Will told Lizzy, watching his sister sleep. "She knew I would…" he said and stopped. Lizzy watched him, startled that he was confiding in her. "She knew to come to you. If Charlie—well, no. Charlie probably wouldn't have done it. Or Fitz, really," Will added, glancing at her with a rueful smile. "He wouldn't understand. The Fitzwilliams have never known what it was to need money. But you…" he said, looking at her again and drifting off. His scowl was so sad that Lizzy squeezed his hand just to see him try to smile. "God, I'm _such_ a shit."

"You're not so bad," Lizzy told him softly.

"I'm sorry you had to get involved," he replied, his gaze very serious.

Lizzy shrugged, with a half-grin. "It's fine. I actually thought it was going to be way more awkward. You should've seen me when I found out that what she wanted from me. She probably had no idea what she was asking me."

"She did," Will said, looking down at his sister. "She knows more than you think. We're quite close."

Lizzy didn't know what to say. She would've taken her hand back, but this didn't seem like the right time for it, not when his jaw was so tight with emotion.

He looked at her side-long with a half-smile. "Thank you," he told her, and gently kissed her temple.

This was the time for Lizzy to push him away, to make loud and angry protests, and leave the compartment. At the very least, she should've glared, but she only went very still, her eyes very wide and watching Will.

Will paused. Lizzy could feel his breath stir her hair. Slowly, he kissed her cheekbone, right under her eye. Lizzy only closed her eyes. He kissed her neck, just below her ear. His hand cradled her face, and he kissed her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—

"When most couples get a room," said Giana, her voice thick with sleep and only one eye open, "they don't usually choose one with the little sister in it."

"You're supposed to be asleep," Will informed said little sister.

"Sister's sixth sense," Giana said, turning over and settling back into sleep.

His hand had dropped away from her face, Lizzy noticed with relief. He wasn't touching her, except for when the train car rocked and the arm he'd lain across the top of her seat brushed the nape of her neck.

Lizzy wouldn't look at Will, even though she felt him watching her. She didn't speak; she didn't know what to say. Thankfully, he didn't either. In the quiet compartment, the only sound was of the railroad clacking under them and Giana's long, slow breathing.

It was stupid, she knew that. She had no right to let him do that. She had no right to run around London with him either or follow him around Pemberley. She had to be more careful, more wary. Eyes on the compartment floor, she resolved silently never to do anything Will could misunderstand again.

Ten minutes later, she was asleep, her head drooping to his chest. Will allowed his arm to cradle her shoulders, and looking out the window at the nighttime shadowy countryside, he struggled to keep the grin off his face.

9.

Nobody likes to lose. Men especially hate it. Especially when he loses at something that he prides himself in having some skill in. _Especially_ when he had an audience. So, it was a problem the next afternoon at Pemberley when Giana forced Will and Lizzy to try out her new Karaoke Revolution video game—complete with two microphones—and when Lizzy's score put Will to—well, not _shame_ exactly, but scowls at least. To be fair though, no one could expect Will to handle this defeat gracefully, since the song that Lizzy beat him on was B.F.D.'s "Do I Contradict Myself?"

"Are you seriously going to pout about this?" Lizzy asked, and Will scowled sharply, unplugging the microphone and coiling the cord around the handle. On the TV screen, Lizzy's video game character (a ballerina) did a spinning victory dance, while Will's character (a goateed man in shades) sulked in the background.

"Don't put it away yet, Will," Giana said; she was extra-polite to her brother this morning. Lizzy guessed that they'd had a talk that morning—or maybe late the night before, after Lizzy walked back to the hotel and the Darcy's waited for Aunty Cindy to pick them at the train station with their bags. When Will kept wrapping, Giana said, "I'd like a turn."

"It's broken. We'll have to take it back," Will said icily.

Lizzy snorted. "Bullshit, Mr. Darcy."

"It's _broken_," Will repeated stonily.

"How old are you?" Lizzy asked, handing her microphone over to Giana.

"Twenty-four," Giana said, but when Will shot her a glare, she quieted abruptly and set about scrolling down the list of songs to find something new to sing.

"You're overreacting," Lizzy told Will.

"_You_ didn't _write_ the bloody song," Will snapped.

"Uh, Will? That's Charlie's song," Giana reminded him.

"I _helped_, didn't I?" Will said, "and I've played it to stadiums throughout the states."

"Well, the world, really," Giana corrected him, with a fond little sisterly grin.

"That's probably why you lost," Lizzy pointed out, and when Will looked at her, scowling but listening, she explained, "This game judges against the recording your label released. That's the version I've heard and sung along to thousands of times, but you improvise a little every time you perform. So, I end up scoring better and you end up singing better, because I'm an imitator and you're an artist.—God, now you're _grinning_. You're so _moody_, Will."

"It's because you called him an artist," Giana suggested.

"No," Will said, still grinning.

"Oh," Giana said, rolling your eyes. "My mistake—it's 'cause you listen to B.F.D. and sing along even."

"You're the moodiest person I've ever met," Lizzy grumbled. "How do you even function?"

"Practice," Will said, shrugging with another grin.

"Please don't mention practice. I've just now gotten over the nightmares the studio sessions gave me," said a voice from the doorway, and when Giana, Lizzy, and Will turned to look, Charlie was in the doorway, his hair still uncombed and curly and his smile a little less broad than Lizzy remembered. "Hello, Lizzy," he told her, wary but resigned—as if he was bracing himself for the worst.

Lizzy grinned away his discomfort and slowly Charlie's smile grew less forced. "Hey, Charlie," she said, "you should check out Giana's new game."

"Don't do it," Will warned his bandmate. "It will only make you angry."

"He's not _you_," Lizzy reminded Will with a smirk, and Will grinned back at her.

"Where's Caroline?" Giana asked in a hopeful voice, as if she hoped Charlie had lost her.

"Taking a shower," Charlie explained, coming into the room and settling into the leather couch that Lizzy'd previously said belonged in the office of a CEO, _not_ in the rec room. "She wilted in the car."

"Good," said Giana with relief. "That gives us a little time, then."

"Well—" Charlie said apologetically. "Not necessarily."

"What's that?" Giana said sharply.

The next thing they heard was a sharp, loud cry-- "Will!" There was a blur of pink velvet and blonde hair rushing across the room, and when it stopped, Caroline Bingley was draped over Will, his arms crossed between him and her and her face angling up toward his. "Will, I've missed you _so_ much; did you miss me?"

Caroline's attentions to Will weren't as funny to Lizzy as they'd been at Netherfield. It was annoying to watch Caroline give a bad name to women everywhere and set a bad example for Giana. "Hey, Caroline," Lizzy said. "How's your sister?"

Caroline turned with the kind of horrified frown that made Lizzy suspect that someone hadn't told Caroline who to expect at Pemberley. "What are _you_ doing here?" Caroline asked her.

"Nice to see you too," Lizzy replied.

"Louisa's well. She's in Boston still," Charlie said, and Lizzy nodded a little, smiling to encourage him. It worked a little too well, because Charlie next asked, "How's your…um, family?"

Lizzy regarded him with a hard smirk. "I haven't seen my mother since you met her. Dad's fine. Lydia, my cousin—"

"_Why_ is she here?" Caroline asked Giana, who dutifully explained about the tour bus.

"She's taken Charlotte's place, so she's living in the apartment with us," Lizzy continued. "My aunt and uncle are here in England with me, but they're enjoying a day of sightseeing to themselves. My aunt Maddie, Lydia's aunt, is trying to weasel out of paying Lydia's portion of the rent, and we're pretty sure it's because she's just bought a house in the Hamptons—" Charlie nodded dutifully through all of this, but when he glanced uncertainly at Will, Lizzy took pity on him and told him what he really wanted to know. "Jane's okay."

Charlie met her gaze with a soft frown, and Lizzy decided she still liked him.

"She's okay, but she's not happy," Lizzy added. It was just a push in the right direction, but she still looked towards Will to gauge his reaction.

"Will, you haven't told me whether you missed me or not yet," Caroline complained, throttling Will's neck in her arms.

"I did see you just yesterday," Will reminded her, trying to pry himself out of her grip.

Lizzy shrugged at Charlie and said, "But don't say that I told you so."

"I—" started Charlie, but Giana embarked on a mission to rescue her brother, by saying, "Caroline, you fancy a try at my new game? I'll do a duet with you."

"Aww," said Caroline, untangling herself from Will (mission accomplished) and patting Giana on the head (with some light casualties). "You're still young enough to play _games_. That's so _cute_, Georgie." (Make that _heavy _casualties.)

"You want me to go again with you?" Lizzy told Giana. "I mean, you did let me and Will have the first turn, so it's only fair."

"That's all right," Giana said, grinning because Caroline was glowering at Lizzy. "Charlie will go with me."

"What am I doing?" Charlie asked, but he was already getting up. (He really_ was_ such a nice guy, Lizzy decided, just too accommodating.)

"Karaoke," Lizzy warned him.

"Oh, okay," said Charlie, taking up the microphone that Giana handed him.

"Charlie will lose as well, I suppose," Will said to Lizzy.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "Depends on whether Giana gives him his part or yours."

Will cursed, and Lizzy laughed, and scowling, Caroline came to sit on Will's other side and took his hand in hers. "Oh, is this B.F.D. Karaoke?"

When no one else replied, Charlie said, "I think so."

"Yes," Giana confirmed.

"Oh my God, it has 'Coming to Bed'?" Caroline asked as Giana's cursor reached it, and then she turned to Will, her hand on his bicep, "I just love that song: every time I hear it, I get all—"

"I don't think we'll do that one," Giana interrupted quickly, scrolling past it.

"Please?" whined Caroline. "Will, can you make them?"

"No," said Will very quietly, and his face was stone again.

"That song's a little sultry for a room full of siblings," Lizzy said smirking.

"You aren't a sibling," Caroline pointed out.

"Plus, it'd be a bit hard. I can't remember all the words," Giana said.

"Sure, I am," Lizzy told Caroline. "I just didn't bring my twin along this time."

"Jane's in England?" Charlie said, and he looked like he was halfway between panic and joy.

Lizzy shook her head at Charlie. "She's still in Vickroot."

"Shall we do 'If I'?" Giana asked Charlie, controller in hand.

"Sure," Charlie said.

"Do you want Will's part?" Giana asked Charlie, who shrugged and nodded. Lizzy looked to Will pointedly, with a slight grin curling at the corners of her mouth.

"It means nothing," Will said sharply, and Caroline curled into Will's side.

"I love that picture," Giana said, gesturing toward the TV. Everyone looked at the Tscreen as the song loaded, where the B.F.D.'s first _Rolling Stones_ cover sparkled with musical notes: Fitz—with a crest of red hair and his usual expression of half-bored mischief, in the background, absentmindedly drumming on a seated Charlie's head, and Will staring straight at the photographer, all very dark eyes and harsh, rigid attention, with his mouth tight and his hands clasped behind his back. Lizzy leaned forward, squinting at it, her mouth half open. She was remembering the brand new band and her first photograph (almost a secret) and the tallest of them turning to her with dark eyes, asking her what she thought she was doing.

"That's because I'm in it," Will said, grinning at his sister.

"You wish. It's because Charlie looks so nice in it," Giana replied, sticking her tongue out at her brother. "I'm sorry, Charlie, but I took quite a fancy to you once upon a time."

Charlie shrugged, but he was blushing and Lizzy remembered how much she liked him. "Who was the photographer for that one again? Burt McTerrin?" he asked Will.

"The asshole-photographer," Lizzy said scowling.

"You had a shoot with him?" Charlie asked.

Lizzy grimaced. "Three—my least favorite."

"Were you an intern?" Giana asked.

"A model," Lizzy replied.

"_You_ were a model?" Giana said, mouth gaping, and Caroline smiled triumphantly.

Lizzy slumped backwards, elbow leaning on the couch cushion behind Will. "_Everybody_ reacts like that."

"McTerrin got the credit for it," Will said quietly, "but he didn't take that photograph."

"Right, I forgot," Charlie said grinning. "You think one of the models—"

"The song's beginning," Giana said.

"Right," Charlie said, turning back to the screen where Will's goateed character in shades was swaying from side to side. The words crept closer along the bottom of the screen, and Charlie and the character both raised the microphone to their mouths. "_If when, my wife is sleeping, and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping—"_

"He's beating you already Will," Lizzy said.

"Not by much," Will replied.

Giana joined in, and together she and Charlie sang, "_and the sun is a flame-white disk_—"

"Finish the story," Caroline said, squeezing Will's arm again. "There was a model who…"

"_in silken mists—_"

"Charlie and Fitz don't believe me, but a model took the picture when no one was looking just before the shoot started," Will said.

"_above shining trees,—"_

"Well, _you_ were looking obviously," Lizzy pointed out, smiling.

"But who was she?" Caroline asked, jealous of a mystery.

Charlie was singing alone again. "_If I in my south room, dance…_Oh, shit—look at that; I've fucked us up already._"_

"Just keep going," Giana hissed.

"None of us know," Will said.

"Well, if it was a model, maybe Lizzy might know him," Caroline suggested.

"Her," Will corrected. "I think she was a brunette, not terribly pretty, and a little short for a model."

Charlie and Giana were going together again, "_singing softly to myself—"_

"Well, Lizzy?" asked Caroline, smirking like it was a challenge. "Know any short, moderately attractive, brunette models who dabble in photography?"

"I might," Lizzy said, and Will heard the laughter behind her polite tone.

"_I am lonely, lonely, I was born to be lonely, I am best so!_"

"It was _you_!" Will said, turning to her, and Lizzy couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Lizzy, it was _you_—all this time and all the shit Charlie and Fitz gave me, and it was _you_."

"What was her?" Caroline asked.

"Charlie," Will called. "Charlie, are you hearing this?"

"Will, shut up, please," Charlie said, eyes on the screen. "I've already messed up once, and—oh, fuck. You've made me miss my cue."

"This really isn't difficult, you know," Giana said, looking wistfully at the dismal score they were getting.

"You might want to start over anyway," Lizzy advised, and Giana reached for the controller.

"Charlie, it was Lizzy," Will said.

"_You_ were the one who screwed me up. Don't blame Lizzy," Charlie scolded with a good-natured grin.

"Lizzy was the _photographer_," Will said. "The _Stones_ cover—it was hers."

"No…really?" Charlie said, turning to her.

"It was my first real photograph," Lizzy said, and both Bingley's gaped at her.

"You can't expect us to actually_ believe_ that," Caroline said.

"Of course not," Lizzy said shortly. "I'm having a hard time with it myself."

"Well, we could try to prove it," Charlie offered. "Lizzy, what did Will ask when he noticed…whoever it was taking pictures?"

Lizzy shrugged. "He asked me what I thought I was doing, but that's not exactly a hard question."

"And what'd you do after that?" Charlie asked.

"I _left_, of course. I could've gotten into a lot of trouble," Lizzy said.

"Was it illegal?" Giana asked.

"McTerrin would've liked it to be if he caught me messing with his camera," Lizzy replied.

"But before that? Before leaving?" Will asked, and that look was back in his eyes, the one where he expected something from her, the one that scared her. "What did you do?"

"I winked, Will, but--" Lizzy said.

Will grinned. "It _was_ you."

"_Shit_—I don't believe it," Charlie said.

"I know," Will said happily. "It's astounding. Lizzy must do all our shoots in the future."

"I can do it," Caroline announced. "I've taken all of Louisa and my digital photos; we even have a website now."

"_No_," Charlie said grinning. "She just called you 'Will.' I never thought she'd give the 'Mr. Darcy' shit up."

"www. caroandluz4ever. com," Caroline announced.

"Who gave you a _website_?" Giana asked Caroline.

"I bought it," said Caroline.

Lizzy had a choice of glaring at Will or Charlie. She chose Will, because Charlie was too easy a target. "I'm not going to be your photographer; we're too complicated now for that."

"She's called me Will for two days now," Will told Charlie smugly.

"I don't see why any of this is a big deal," Lizzy said scowling and crossing her arms, and Will smirked at her in a way that Lizzy knew would be trouble later.

"Well, for one thing, McTerrin must have made over a million off of that photograph with all the poster sales and all," Charlie explained.

Lizzy's mouth dropped open, and she closed it swiftly.

"You can _make_ that much money with a photograph?" Caroline asked, clearly impressed.

"Rarely," said Lizzy grinning. "_Very_ rarely."

"Are you like, upset?" Caroline asked with a newfound respect for Lizzy in her voice.

"Ask me later after I graduate and need to find an apartment in the city," Lizzy said shrugging. "It's fine right now, though. I just managed my last tuition payment so I feel pretty good about money matters."

"Lizzy, you're my new favorite person," said Giana beaming, and Bing and Dar both seemed equally impressed.

Lizzy grinned. "Thanks."

Caroline however was not impressed and was less inclined to be, when it turned all the attention away from _her_. "I guess a model needs to develop _other_ talents if she's _not terribly attractive_," she told Lizzy.

"Yep," chirped Lizzy proudly. "Pretty much."

"There may have been a time when she didn't seem so," Will said evenly to Caroline, and Lizzy turned to him sharply with a scolding grin, wondering what had pissed him off so fast. "But for several months, I've considered Lizzy to be the most beautiful woman I know."

The room became very still, and Lizzy watched every eye in the room turn to her and felt all the blood rush to her face. "Way to make it awkward, Will," she growled and stood up.

"Oh, well done, Will," added Giana, but Will was watching Lizzy—not frowning exactly but not smiling either.

"Are you leaving?" Charlie asked.

"Not exactly," Lizzy replied, not meeting anyone's eye, "but there's a darkroom I've been meaning to visit."

"Will," Charlie said, as Lizzy walked through the door, "how long have you known you're in love with Lizzy?"

Lizzy walked faster down the hall, but she didn't get far enough away to escape Caroline's shout: "WILL IS _NOT_ IN LOVE WITH LIZZY."

10.

The dark room always calmed Lizzy. There was something about the way that it was set up that let her feel—just for a little while—that she had absolute control over these things that she had chosen and purchased with her own hard-earned income. Of course, that was at home in Vickroot. As a student, Lizzy would've never been able to afford the enlarger like the one that Pemberley had or a sink with such a fancy faucet system, but it only served to remind her that this wasn't _her_ darkroom—it was Will's.

When she heard the knock at the door, Lizzy was cutting up film to fit in the sleeves that she'd picked up in London the day before. She knew it was Will by the way the feet were positioned in the narrow slat under the door. "Lizzy, can I come in?"

"No," Lizzy said flatly, gathering up her film. When the door opened and Will walked in, so tall that he nearly blocked out the light from the windows behind him, Lizzy asked, "Did you _not_ hear me?"

"You haven't started yet," Will pointed out. He was watching her with that tight expression she hated, the one that had so much feeling in it that it seemed expressionless. "You haven't even shut off the lights."

Lizzy snapped off the switch for the regular lights and flipped on the other set, and the room took on the dark, moody angles that seemed to come with the glow of a red bulb.

"You do understand that you're being absurd, don't you?" Will asked, leaning against the countertop and watching Lizzy fiddle with the enlarger, centering the negative under the bulb. "Most women _enjoy_ compliments."

Lizzy flipped another switch, and the enlarger projected a fuzzy, black and white image of Pemberley onto a white square of cardboard below. "You can't _say_ stuff like that, Will."

"Like what?" Will asked, and it wasn't the serious note in his voice that scared Lizzy—it was the thought that this was going to be the kind of conversation that she would want to forget later but couldn't. "Perhaps, you don't want me to say that I think you're beautiful? That there hasn't been a day between our last meeting and this that I haven't thought about you? That there has to be something here—with all these chance meetings we've had—this first photo shoot, my dressing room, Aunt Catherine's, even Vickroot—there has to be a little bit of—"

"Yes," Lizzy interrupted sharply in a small voice, and she wouldn't look at him. "You can't say that."

"Why not?" Will asked, and his tone was a little gentler. "If it's what I believe, then why shouldn't I say it?"

Lizzy didn't answer. She adjusted the enlarger until the lines of Pemberley grew more distinct.

"The silent treatment, Lizzy?" Will said softly, almost joking. When she still didn't answer, he added, "If you're going to force me to ask these questions, you'll have to answer them."

"I don't like it," Lizzy said.

"It scares you, you mean," Will replied.

"Yes," Lizzy said quietly. "It scares me."

"All right," Will said, and when Lizzy finally looked at him, he was nodding. "Okay."

"Thank you for letting me use your darkroom, Will," Lizzy said.

"Is that my dismissal?" Will asked, reaching for the doorknob.

"_No_—I was _going_ to ask you which pictures you wanted me to develop for you to keep in your private collection," Lizzy said.

Will's grin was slow, but it was infectious. "Will you autograph them?"

Lizzy snorted, sensing the return of Teasing Will. "No way."

"But you must. I won't want them if you don't autograph them," Will told her.

"Fine—I'll just have to pay you in cash for renting your darkroom," Lizzy said.

"You don't have to pay us anything, Lizzy," Will said sharply.

"Sure, I do—otherwise, I won't feel comfortable," Lizzy said.

Will sighed. "Where's the thing, then?"

"What thing?"

"The thing with the pictures, but they're smaller and it's the whole roll," Will explained.

"Do you mean the contact sheet?" Lizzy asked laughing.

"_That's_ it," Will said with a triumphant grin.

"There," Lizzy said, nodding up to her left, where a wet piece of thick photography paper was hanging from a clothesline. Will leaned and reached across her with an impossible long arm that smelled of soap and something else that made Lizzy freeze.

Will took the sheet down and squinted at it in the dim, red light. "This one."

Lizzy looked where he was pointing and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. No."

"What? I'm not allowed to choose? You just said you wanted me to choose," Will reminded her.

"Yeah, with the intention that you'd pick one of the pictures that _I'd_ taken," Lizzy said.

"You didn't take this one?" Will asked.

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Will, it's a picture of _me_. How could I have taken it?"

"It's the one I want," Will said. He was smirking. This was definitely the teasing side of Will.

"That's creepy," Lizzy said.

Will frowned. "How is it creepy?"

"To know your picture's in the someone's home a whole ocean away."

Will laughed, the rich laugh she'd heard once before an ocean away at the Collins' residence. "This coming from the photographer who put the faces of B.F.D. on newsstands around the world and in many homes besides."

Lizzy scowled. "_Fine_," said Lizzy, pulling out the negative out of the sleeve, "but that's not the only one I'm making for you."

"All right, I saw another one with you in it somewhere here," Will said, squinting at the contact sheet again.

"_No._"

"I don't have any pictures of you," Will protested.

"Tough luck. There's a new rule—only one of your new pictures can have me in it," Lizzy said.

Will scowled. "Why not?"

"Because," Lizzy said with a grin, "I'll think that you don't appreciate my work if you don't pick any that I took."

He picked the view from the master bedroom's broken balcony. He picked the half-exposed ballroom carving. He picked Giana's face—bright and beaming in a London train window. He picked a mountain of shopping bags piled at his sister's feet.

"Whoa—slow down there," Lizzy said. "It'll start with those, and we'll move on from there."

Will moved on when Lizzy did, shadowing her movements—from the enlarger, where they watch a few bright seconds of light exposed to a sensitive page—to the sink, where they watched one solution develop it, another fix it, and water wash it—to the rack, where they left the photos to dry. He was always a step behind—so close that his movements drew goosebumps on her arms and his smell made it impossible for her to concentrate.

After exposing the third photograph, Lizzy lost her patience and pressed him backward with a firm hand on his chest, and he let her push him two steps away. "You're too close," she explained, dropping the paper in the developing solution.

"Am I?" Will asked, and he was grinning again as he stepped close again. And then closer until he was only half a foot away and towering over her. "Is this too close, too?"

"Cut it out," Lizzy warned. This wasn't Teasing Will anymore. This was someone more dangerous.

"And this?" Will said, leaning down until he was only an inch away. "Too close, do you think?"

"Will," Lizzy growled.

He pressed his forehead against hers. "How about this? Is this too—" he said, and then Lizzy kissed him—on the mouth, probably because it was closest.

It was a quick kiss, just an impulse before she gasped, realizing what she was doing. "That didn't happen," Lizzy told him, and she was very glad that the room was red already, so Will wouldn't notice how much she was blushing.

"Yes, it did," Will said, and he was still too close—she would've pushed him away, if she trusted herself enough to touch him again. "You kissed me."

"That wasn't a kiss," Lizzy said and realized how stupid she sounded. "There was no tongue, so no kiss."

"Don't be ridiculous, Lizzy," Will said.

"It won't happen again," Lizzy told him, pulling the photograph of Giana's face out of the developing solution and into the fix.

"I don't think you understand," Will said. "I would rather it _did_ happen again."

"Well, it still won't," Lizzy said firmly and felt Will's hand firmly turn her towards him.

The angles of his face seemed softened by the red light, but his scowl was the kind that made her heart stutter in her chest. "That isn't fair, Lizzy."

"Let me go," Lizzy snapped. "Now," she added, and he did but he was angry.

Will was pacing now.

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said and meant it.

The room was too small for his long-legged steps. He only managed two-and-a-half before he had to turn himself around again.

"Look, what do you want me to say? I messed up," Lizzy replied.

"You didn't mess up," Will told her.

"Will, you—" Lizzy started, one finger raised.

"You won't let anything happen," Will interrupted. "You just make everything seem possible and then just steal it away—"

"Is that any different to what you did to Jane? And Charlie?" Lizzy snapped.

A different man might have hit something, but Will only turned—looking at Lizzy with a flat expression too sharp to be a scowl. "I knew it," Will scoffed. "I knew that at some point in this conversation, you'd think I was too bloody close, and you'd insult me to get me to take off. But that won't work on _me_, Lizzy. I'm just as stubborn as you—"

"That's _not_ what this is," Lizzy snapped.

"What is it, then?" Will asked. "What are you doing now? Is this revenge for what I made happen between my friend and your sister? Is that the kind of woman you'd rather be?"

Lizzy didn't answer, except to look down, swallow, and turn away, trying not to believe that he'd just accused her of coming to Pemberley just to make him miserable and get back at him for Jane.

"Lizzy…" Will started, reaching toward her, but she sidestepped him to take Giana's picture out of the fix and into the rinse.

"Let it stay in there for another couple minutes," Lizzy said quietly, gathering up all the film she saw—the silvery sleeves and the dark ribbons in them, "and then you can hang it up to dry."

"Lizzy," Will called again, but she threw open the door—flooding the red room with white light.

She fled.

"Lizzy, you know I don't actually believe that," Will called after her.

She knew she was fleeing, but she didn't care. It was better to be gone than to be brave; she might not have returned to the rec room—if it hadn't been for her camera bag and Giana ("You're leaving?" the girl asked. "I'm sorry," Lizzy replied, hugging her). The Bingleys stood up in the confusion, almost a salute. Aunty Cindy was in the corner, watching Lizzy with a shrewd, judging look. Then Will came into the room and Lizzy went out of it, through the nearest long-windowed door, across the marble porch, and down the front stairs. Will tried one last time ("Lizzy!"), and Lizzy raised one hand in good-bye and left Pemberley.

11.

There are moments in life when someone needs someone else, and Lizzy had structured her life against these moments. She'd fortified herself from them. To be independent, she'd navigated herself around their onslaught. But sadly, no plan is fool-proof, and this world is too crowded for anyone to be alone forever.

Her aunt and uncle were gone again. They'd told her that they would be—it wasn't a surprise, but when she walked into their empty room, the unguarded part of her still panged with loneliness.

There was the phone. Lizzy had a calling card—it was only for emergencies, but this was the only kind of emergency that Lizzy ever needed her sister for.

She couldn't tell Jane everything, she knew that. It was too big a burden to force on someone over an ocean. But Lizzy could hear her twin's voice, and Jane would say in her soft-spoken way that everything would be all right.

After a thread of numbers and bombardment of voice commands, Lizzy was calling home, cradling the phone to her ear with one hand and pressing a hand over her eyes with the other. She wouldn't cry. The phone rang once, twice, three times; Lizzy held her breath and the answering machine came on. Lizzy let the air out of her lungs in a sharp cry and would have hung up, but instead of Jane's determined "Sorry—we can't come to the phone right now…", the message was Jane again, saying sharply, "We're not here, but Lizzy, if it's you, check your email. Or your voice mail. Please." The tone came and went, and Lizzy said "I—" before hanging up quickly. Before dialing through the calling cards numbers with fingers that almost shook, hearing her own tinny voice tell her whose mailbox she'd reached, and typing in her password carefully.

She listened.

She closed her eyes, pushed a button, and listened again.

She placed the phone back on the receiver, breathing carefully. She sprang into action: she pulled out her travel information—her ticket and her itinerary. With one hand, she dialed through her calling card codes again; with the other, she gathered her clothes from the room's floor and shoved them into her bag. With the help of a travel agent mercilessly badgered ("There's nothing earlier? Are you sure?" "Quite sure."), she rerouted her flight from New York to Boston, from a week away to just a few hours. She booked a shuttle to the nearest international airport. She paid her fees by credit card. She hung up the phone. She zipped up her suitcase. She put it by the door; she put it _outside_ the door so that she could move it faster when the shuttle called for her.

She found the hotel stationary. She found a pen. She perched at the edge of the bed—the paper on the nightstand, the pen on the paper.

She didn't know how to tell her aunt and uncle.

She didn't know how to put it into words.

A shadow stretched into the room in the long, late-afternoon light, and there was a figure in the doorway. "You left some of your things," he said. "Your film."

"Are you all right?" Will asked.

He took a step forward; the sun blazed in a window behind him. "Lizzy?"

"I—" she started and swallowed. "I have to go home."

He was holding her before she realized she was crying. She curled into him, her arm looped around his neck. His arms were around her waist, his chin on top of her head. She was crying--she _never _cried. But here she was, crying like a child, worse than a child—she'd been a braver child than this, a calmer child than this—unabashedly hiccupping sobs into Will's shoulder as he drew slow, long circles across her back.

When she was calmer, when she was _quieter_, Will said, "I'm sorry, Lizzy. I'm so sorry."

Lizzy shook her head and took a deep, shaky breath. "I just have to go home."

"I didn't mean—" Will started.

"What?" Lizzy said, drawing away so that she could shake her sleeve forward and wipe her eyes. That was worse because she could see his face. She could see how much she'd scared him. "No, Will—this…isn't about you. This isn't about us."

"Ah," said Will, and the most rigid lines of his face softened.

"I called home," Lizzy told him and gulped.

Will waited, watching her with very dark eyes.

"Lydia's pregnant," Lizzy whispered. Will nodded seriously, and Lizzy smiled, just a twisted mouth and too many bared teeth. "You don't even know who Lydia is."

"No," Will said, brushing hair away from the damp parts of her face, sticky with leftover tears. Lizzy felt his guitar callouses brush her cheek.

"She's my roommate—my cousin and my roommate," Lizzy told him. He tucked her hair behind her ear. It was just an excuse to touch her now, but she didn't mind. "My mother's sister Maddie—she married a corporate someone. Golddiggers run in my family--that's why I get so upset, Will, when you accused us of it. My mom failed at it. That's why she pushes so hard."

"It's all right, Lizzy," Will told her, his hands on her shoulders.

"Lydia's in Boston _alone_—that's not all right," Lizzy murmured. "She's seventeen and pregnant. She shouldn't be alone right now, but he just_ left_ her there."

"Who?" Will asked. "The father?"

Lizzy nodded. "It's all my fault, Will."

"You're thousands of miles away, Lizzy," Will reminded her. "It can't possibly be your fault."

"I should've told her, but all I said was not to tell him about the money," Lizzy said sadly. "I thought she was safe. She was so young—I thought he wouldn't want her. I thought she was safe."

"Lizzy, you aren't making sense, love," Will told her, and Lizzy knew she was scaring him again and forced herself to calm down.

"It's Jack—it's Wickham," Lizzy said, and all the harsh lines returned to Will's face. "Wickham's the father; Wickham eloped with her to Boston; he _left_ her—he left her when she told him about the baby."

Lizzy was crying again, and Will pulled her back into a hug, her head back under his chin, his hand drawing circles on her back again. "It's all my fault."

"It isn't," Will insisted.

"I knew she liked him, Will," Lizzy told him, and it was almost a confession. "All I had to do was tell her about Giana. I didn't have to use names. All I had to do was tell her what he is and what he wants, and I didn't."

"It isn't your fault, Lizzy."

"She's only seventeen," Lizzy said with a shaky breath. "I know her life's not over, but she's just made it so much harder for herself."

"Is there anything I can do?" Will asked.

"I just need to go to Boston," said Lizzy. "Jane's driving there now, but Lydia won't tell her where she is. We just have to _find_ her."

"I can make some calls," Will said. "I have family there; they can—"

Lizzy shook her head. "Lydia will be found when she realizes I'm looking for her."

"A flight, then? A ride to the airport—I can drive you," Will offered.

Lizzy shook her head again. "Already taken care of it," she said, pulling back but not brave enough to look Will in the eye yet.

"Lizzy," Will said, and he sounded as helpless as she felt.

"I got your shirt all wet," Lizzy said, tugging at it. "Sorry."

"I don't care," he said, shaking his head. "I really don't care."

"Thank you," Lizzy said, embarrassed. She looked up at him, though, to prove that she meant it.

"It's a _shirt_, Lizzy, and it'll dry," Will reminded her.

"No," Lizzy said, and she smiled at him, the smile curling more naturally. "For this; for coming."

Will was silent for a long moment, long enough for Lizzy to start realizing that they were on the bed together—with shoes on, but still. "I didn't want you to leave angry," he told her quietly. "Again."

_Sorry that it took me so long to update! The next chapter will be shorter, so hopefully, I'll get it out faster. Also, credit should go to animeanne for coming up with the term "Wickhead the Dickhead." Thanks—it made me laugh and I had to include it, and thank you to everyone who reviewed._


	10. Don't Get Mad

Half of a Musical Interlude

"Where did you find her?" Jane asked Lizzy again, glancing in the rearview mirror to Lydia sleeping in the backseat.

"Train station," Lizzy replied quietly, turning around in her seat to brush her cousin's unwashed hair from her face.

Jane bit her lip as they passed a white and black sign—NOW LEAVING BOSTON CITY LIMITS. "I thought I looked there."

Lizzy sat back down and adjusted her seatbelt. She wasn't going to tell Jane that when she found Lydia, their cousin was one of four people lying on the benches outside the station, sleeping or at least, pretending to. Lizzy'd noticed a slight figure with a familiar blonde ponytail. She couldn't see the face that belonged to that ponytail—the newspaper that the figure used as a blanket hid it, but Lizzy called, "Lydia," and a hand with chipped, pink nail polish pushed the newspaper away. Lydia was crying. Lizzy hugged her silently, kissing the top of her head before leading her away.

To Jane, all Lizzy said was "She was trying to find someone to pay her way home, but no one believed that she was actually pregnant."

"No sign of…" Jane started, looking sidelong at Lizzy.

"Wickham," Lizzy said and snorted. "_No_. If he _was_ there, I wouldn't be here. I'd be at the police station."

"I don't think we have the right to press charges for statutory," Jane said. "It's got to be either Lydia or her mom."

"Doesn't matter," Lizzy said. "I'd be the one under arrest. For disturbing the peace. His."

Jane smiled just enough to acknowledge the joke and glanced at their cousin again in the rearview mirror. "She doesn't show."

"No, not yet," Lizzy said. "How far along is she?"

"I don't know." Jane sighed. "I don't think _she_ knows."

"We'll have to take her to a clinic when we get back to Vickroot," Lizzy mused quietly. "I'm hungry. Do you have anything?"

Jane shook her head, so Lizzy grabbed her purse and searched around in the bottom of her bag for some gum. "Bingo!" Lizzy cried, brandishing a pack of Orbitz. "You want some?"

"What are we going to _do_, Lizzy?" Jane asked.

Lizzy pretended it didn't scare her that her twin sounded so helpless. "Well, first I think we should get in the lane for I-90. Otherwise, we'll never get home," Lizzy said, unwrapping her gum and stuffing it into her mouth. "You sure you don't want any?" she asked again, holding the gum out towards Jane.

"You know what I mean, Lizzy," Jane said. "What are we going to do with Lydia?"

"First, we're going to get here home," Lizzy announced. "Next, we're going to convince her to take a shower, because I've smelled her hair and it's overdue for some shampoo. Third, we'll put her in some PJ's and let her sleep for a while. I imagine she hasn't had a good rest in a few days—"

"What are we going to tell people?" Jane interrupted.

Lizzy was silent for a moment, knocking her knuckles against the window in time to the 'Death Cab for Cutie' playing on the radio. "Nothing," Lizzy decided finally.

Jane threw her twin a reproachful glance. "How can we _not_ tell them?"

"We don't call."

"Lizzy, you have to be serious," Jane said. "This is really a huge problem."

"I know that, Jane," Lizzy soothed, "but this is Lydia's baby, not ours."

"She's just seventeen," Jane reminded her.

"I know," Lizzy replied, "but it still has to be her decision."

Jane's chin was still quivering, so Lizzy reached across and held her sister's hand. "It'll be all right," Lizzy promised.

"I really don't see how it's just going to be all right," Jane said, and her voice shook almost as much as it had the day Charlie's moving van showed up. "She's just ruined her life."

"Don't say that," Lizzy said sharply, "and _don't_ ever let her hear it."

Jane was quiet.

"I wonder what their baby will look like," Lizzy said, watching her sister slyly.

"Lizzy!" Jane hissed.

"I know you're wondering it, too," Lizzy pointed out with an unsteady grin. "Isn't there that website that'll merge the parents' pictures for you?"

"That's completely inappropriate," Jane told her sister, but she was smiling again and that was really all Lizzy wanted.

"I need to tell you something," Jane said quickly.

Lizzy lifted her eyebrows. "Uh-oh. Should I brace myself?"

"I told someone already," Jane confessed.

Lizzy took a mental inventory of possible damage control techniques. "Who?"

"Dad," Jane explained.

"Oh," said Lizzy, dismissing the mental inventory. She already knew how her dad handled pregnant young women. Of course, her mother probably wasn't the best example.

"I needed a car," Jane said, "and yours wasn't up for a road trip."

"But this isn't Dad's car," Lizzy said, looking around.

"No, it's his girlfriend's," Jane replied.

"Dad has a girlfriend!" Lizzy said and laughed.

"Shh!" hushed jane, with a worried glance in the backseat. "You'll wake her up."

Lizzy quieted, still grinning. "Who's Dad dating?"

"Professor Molly Brettman."

Lizzy gasped. "Charlotte's thesis advisor?"

"Oh, she was Charlotte's advisor?" Jane said. "I couldn't figure out why she was at the wedding."

"That's where they met?"

"Lizzy, we saw him drive her home," Jane reminded her.

"Huh," said Lizzy, smiling and trying to remember if her father had mentioned a steady girlfriend.

"How'd the Gardiners take it?" Jane asked.

"I don't know," Lizzy said slowly, turning to Jane guiltily. "I wasn't there when they found out."

"You _weren't?_" Jane said, mouth gaping and red brows furrowed. "This isn't the kind of thing you leave in a note."

"I had a bus to catch for London," Lizzy explained, shrugging. "Besides, I didn't leave a note. I had a messenger."

"Who?" Jane asked, but Lizzy was looking out the window, listening to Alanis Morrisette singing about gratitude on the radio. Her mind was back in England. She remembered standing on the bus steps and realizing with a curse that she'd forgotten about Sam and Diana.

"I'll handle it, Lizzy," Will had told her, handing up her suitcase with a grave smile.

Lizzy couldn't remember if she'd thanked him. She was pretty sure she'd hugged him goodbye.

"Lizzy, _who_?" Jane repeated.

"A friend," Lizzy said in her quietest voice, watching Jane to gauge her reaction.

"You have friends in England?" Jane asked suspiciously, looking hard at Lizzy.

"Eyes on the road, Jane," Lizzy reminded her.

"_Lizzy,_" Jane hissed.

"It's a really long story," Lizzy explained.

On the radio, the song changed in a slightly hesitant acoustic strumming.

"How long can it be? You were only in England for a week," Jane pointed out.

"Well, it kind of started at Rosings," Lizzy said slowly.

Over the speakers, a familiar voice started humming to himself.

"Rosings? That was months ago."

"Or maybe before that," Lizzy admitted.

Jane glanced at Lizzy, mouth in a tight, shrewd line. "I know. It's Will Darcy."

"How'd you know?" Lizzy cried, mouth open.

"I'm your sister," Jane said sagely. "I know a whole lot more than you tell—"

Jane stopped abruptly, staring at the radio with the sharpest scowl Lizzy had seen on her face since they were teenagers.

"_I hope you don't mind,"_ sang the voice on the radio.

"_It shouldn't be a problem. _

_We've both been through worse. _

_It'll be fine if you just hear me out—"_

Jane punched the power button so hard that the car swerved into the next lane.

Lizzy reached over and grabbed the steering wheel to hold it steady. "Whoa! Jane, seriously, eyes on the road!"

"I can't fucking believe it," Jane growled through her teeth.

"Okay," said Lizzy, glancing in the rearview mirror and not believing that Lydia slept through that.

"I just—Ugh!" Jane growled.

"Jane, we want to be on _this_ side of the dotted white line, okay?" Lizzy said.

"I _hate_ him," Jane said.

"All right, but do you need to pull over and let me drive?" Lizzy asked.

Jane took a deep, shaky breath and then another one. "Yeah, actually," she said, glancing behind her quickly before changing lanes. "I think that'd be a good idea."

When they were safely parked on the shoulder and Jane was walking around the car to the passenger side, Lizzy scooted over to the driver's seat and turned the radio back on.

The song on the radio was in the middle of its chorus chords.

"_It was an accident._

_Don't get mad._

_Don't get scared."_

Jane climbed back into the car, and Lizzy said incredulously, "It's Charlie."

"_I didn't mean to feel this way_

_About you—"_

Jane snapped the radio off with another fierce jab. "I don't want to hear it, Lizzy."

"But—" Lizzy said and stopped, trying to count how many days Jane had spent just listening B.F.D. albums on the loop. "Is that the song he sang to you at Nether—"

"You know, Lizzy, I don't want to talk about it either," Jane snapped, buckling her seatbelt.

"But Jane—" Lizzy started cautiously.

Jane snorted. "This just proves that he didn't love me, he _never_ loved me, and—"

"No, Jane—he definitely loves you," Lizzy interrupted sharply. "Listen, I saw him—"

"I don't think I can listen to this right now," Jane said, looking straight forward at the dark road and scowling.

"This is really important," Lizzy told her.

"I can only handle one thing at a time," Jane replied, crossing her arms.

"Really, really important," Lizzy emphasized.

"Then, tell me later when things have calmed down," Jane suggested, sighing and slumping in the seat, her red hair sprayed out on the leather headrest. "It'll keep."

"Okay," Lizzy said, shifting the car out of park and into drive. "Just let me know."

Jane rubbed her nose with two fingers, as Lizzy pressed the gas and quickly moved the car back onto the highway, following a white suburban with a bumper sticker that weirdly read, "SUV: Socially Unacceptable Vehicle". After hearing Jane sniff twice, Lizzy asked, "You okay, Janey?"

"Yeah," Jane said, wiping her eyes with long-fingered hands. "I'm just not—"

Lizzy reached over, eyes on the road, and stroked Jane's hair.

"I'm just not good," Jane said.

"Yet," Lizzy added, giving her sister's arm a squeeze. "Shit--why didn't I give you a hug when the car was stopped?"

Jane sniffed and shook her head, smiling and watching headlights zoom by.


	11. The Trouble with Visitors

1.

If a young woman makes a mistake, any sort of mistake—whether in their choice of men or make-up, the elder generation will not be long in arriving to give their opinion in the matter. So, less than a half hour after the Bennet twins tucked their cousin in bed, Lizzy and Jane found themselves sitting across the kitchen table from Ben Bennet and Professor Molly Brettman, discussing Lydia's fate. It was a surprise to see them: a surprise that Ben was so prompt to pick up the car, a surprise that he brought his girlfriend with him, and a surprise that the professor brought the conversation immediately, awkwardly to the twins' pregnant cousin.

Molly Brettman was a slim woman and tall, almost as tall as Ben himself. She was beautiful in a restrained sort of way, with her hair twisted up in a barrette and a dark lipstick that matched the red detailing on her suit. She didn't talk much, even as Jane and Ben argued over Lydia's options, their coffee steaming between them and Jane's face flushing with the beginnings of anger. But that was probably wise; Lizzy wasn't sure if she could be patient with the strange woman if she thought she knew what was best for a pregnant teen without ever meeting Lydia. Even Jane seemed to be having a hard time with the professor's presence: she kept looking between Ben and his girlfriend with a slight, tight-lipped frown, and Lizzy was too drained to understand why.

"Zippy, you've been quiet. It's creepy," Ben commented suddenly. "Your jet lag bothering you?"

Lizzy grinned, and the smile felt like a lie across her face. "It'll be fine as soon as the coffee kicks in."

"What _do_ you think, Lizzy?" Jane asked.

"I think it's too early to be having this conversation," Lizzy said, taking a quiet sip from her mug. "Bleh," she said, making a face. "It's _cold_," she explained to Jane and scooted her chair back to pour herself a new cup.

"Trust me," Ben said, turning his mug around his hands and barely meeting Jane's worried glance. "Nine months pass faster than you think."

Lizzy rolled her eyes pointedly before she turned to the sink and slosh the cold coffee into the drain. "I'm pretty sure we can afford to wait until Lydia wakes up," she pointed out, rinsing her mug. "Dad, you shaved your beard. Was that your influence, Professor Brettman?"

"Yes," Molly Brettman replied. Her voice was deep, for a woman's, and she held Lizzy's gaze levelly. "But it's not time to change the subject. And don't call me 'Professor.'"

"You shouldn't have said that," Ben commented before Lizzy could figure out a way to respond. "Now she won't rest until she's gone and changed the subject."

Her mug in one hand and the coffeepot in the other, Lizzy raised one challenging eyebrow at her father and replied, "As I see it, she has three options: abortion, adoption, or single motherhood. Did I miss one?"

"Lizzy," Jane warned.

Ben was looking at the professor, but his voice was low and slow and wary. "You don't seem to understand the situation that Lydia's in," Ben told Lizzy.

Lizzy grinned again, her mouth stretching around her teeth, and she poured herself a fresh mug, watching the bitter black coffee flow into the mug. "She's seventeen. Pregnant. Abandoned by the baby's father. Will be disowned by her parents as soon as they find out she's about to have Wickham Junior. What part of this situation don't I understand?" she said, settling the coffeepot back down and going to the refrigerator for milk..

Molly leaned backwards and crossed her arms in front of her, watching Lizzy with a slight, silent frown.

"Lizzy, I don't know if you understand the _emotional_ implications," Ben started.

"Don't think that because she's blunt, she doesn't feel for Lydia as much as any of us," Jane said, looking sharply at her father. "This is just how Lizzy deals with it."

At the door of the fridge, Lizzy smiled at her sister in gratitude, until Jane added, "That doesn't mean that you shouldn't at least _try_, Lizzy."

"We still don't know anything," Lizzy pointed out, pouring milk into her mug, replacing it, and bumping the fridge door closed with her hip. "It's not like Lydia's told us much."

"We don't know when she's due," Jane agreed, passing her sister the sugar bowl.

"Or how long she's been dating Jack," Lizzy added, and even the forced smile dropped off her face. She spooned sugar into the steaming mug and stirred, wondering if this was how Will felt when he found out about Georgiana and Wickham. No, Lizzy decided as she blew on her coffee: it'd been worse for him probably. If Lizzy had been a little less tired, she would have been annoyed to feel a throb of sympathy on top of everything else. "That can be Option Four: track Wickham down and do him severe bodily harm. What do you think, Jane? You and me hold him, and let Lydia punch?"

Jane smiled weakly, and Ben said, "This isn't a laughing matter, Zippy."

Lizzy turned around to lean against the counter, facing the table, her hand over the top of her mug. "I'm not laughing. I'm not even smiling."

She composed an idle photograph of the three of them—Ben and Molly on one side of the table, their hands an inch away from touching, and Jane looking into her coffee and frowning. It struck Lizzy that it could be taken for a family portrait. "(Dysfunctional) Family Portrait—Not pictured: Mother." Or even "Father—unusually pictured."

Jane sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Do we really think that Aunt Grace and Uncle Jeremy will disown Lydia?"

"Well, I don't know about 'we,'" Lizzy replied, "but that's what _I_ think."

"Which one is Grace? The short, top-heavy one?" Ben asked, and Lizzy snorted when she saw Molly Brettman scowl at him reproachfully.

"Mom's youngest sister," Jane said quietly. "She married a widower."

"A CEO, who soon inherited the corporation," Lizzy corrected, dropping into her seat beside Jane.

"Ah," Molly said delicately.

"I really don't think Uncle Jeremy could do that to Lydia," Jane said. "Remember when she moved in?"

Lizzy frowned, trying to remember. "No."

"You were here," Jane reminded her.

"Still drawing a blank," Lizzy said, wrinkling her nose apologetically.

"Oh," said Jane, glancing behind at the living room and then back at Lizzy. "You were in your darkroom."

"Oh, yeah," Lizzy remembered, trying a sip of her coffee and burning her tongue with a wince. "I was escaping."

"Did your mother come to help or something?" Ben asked, and Jane opened her mouth and closed it abruptly, looking at Molly Brettman.

"She didn't have to," Lizzy replied. "Aunt Grace started telling me what a pity it was that Mom never managed to teach me to take of myself." Ben snorted, and Lizzy shrugged. "I just needed a haircut."

"Well, you didn't come out until I told you it was time to say good-bye," Jane reminded her, "and left _me_ to handle all the boxes."

"Aunt Grace always liked you better anyway," Lizzy said with a small smirk, taking a sip of coffee as Jane scowled.

"What does this have to do with Lydia?" Molly Brettman asked pointedly.

Jane's thumb glided up and down the mug's handle. "When they were moving in and setting up, Lydia realized how much space our living room has, and so she sent Uncle Jeremy to Circuit City for a bigger plasma TV."

"And he _went_?" Ben asked.

"He went. I think he said, 'Anything for my princess,'" Jane explained.

"Yeah," Lizzy snorted, getting up from the table again, gathering spoons and empty mugs, "but remember that's the same TV that Aunt Grace decided would look better in _her_ living room than ours. If Lydia's the princess, she's got a Queen over her pulling rank." She stopped with her hand over Molly's empty cup and waited until the professor turned to her with a quiet bemused expression. "You done?" Lizzy asked her.

"Yes," Molly Brettman replied, and Lizzy smiled shortly and took the mug with her to the sink. In the mirror behind the kitchen table, Lizzy saw her father and his girlfriend exchange glances and Ben grin quickly.

Jane's gaze remained stubbornly on the table as Lizzy dumped the dishes in the sink with the sharp clatter of silverware. Lizzy knew that Jane wanted them to leave but couldn't tell what was bothering her twin: if it was just exhaustion or Ben and Molly's relationship. Probably both.

"Aunt Grace will be mad, but she loves Lydia," Jane said quietly. "Do really think she'd really want to disown her?"

Lizzy turned the faucet on and rinsed out two mugs before replying carefully, "Yes. She won't accept Lydia as anything other than a perfect debutante."

"But you're not sure, right?" Jane asked, twisting around in her chair to look at Lizzy.

Lizzy opened the dishwasher with a half-smile and began to line the top rack with mugs. "She's too much like Mom, Jane."

"Mom wouldn't—" Jane started.

Lizzy closed the dishwasher and turned back, arms crossed. "No," she told her twin lightly, "not to you."

The silence was almost awkward, but Lizzy met Molly Brettman's gaze steadily and smiled when the professor asked, "So you don't think we should call Lydia's parents?"

"No," Lizzy said, "but I think Lydia probably should."

"If they do disown her," Jane said slowly, "how are we going to pay for—"

"We'll manage," Lizzy said shortly.

"Lizzy," Ben said slowly, "your savings can't support two people."

"They won't have to," Lizzy said with a wry grin. "Lydia has a few trust funds. I'm almost sure that Wickham didn't know about them." If he knew, she wanted to add, he wouldn't have left so quickly.

"But she's a minor, right?" Ben said.

"Only for a couple more weeks," Lizzy replied, resuming her seat and pulling her steaming mug toward her.

Jane was staring across the table again, and when Lizzy followed her sister's gaze, she finally noticed what was sparkling on Professor Molly Brettman's finger. A ring, a modest one—with a single diamond and twin sapphires on either side, but it was worn on a very specific finger.

"Oh-ho," Lizzy said with a sharp fixed grin at the couple across from her. "You two are getting married?"

It was Molly Brettman who smiled back first, while Ben looked at Jane with a worried frown and Jane looked from Lizzy to Molly with wide eyes. "Yes," Molly said. "I'm sure Ben was about to mention it."

"Well, a word of advice about Dad," Lizzy said with a real, teasing smile, "it takes him a really long time to mention anything. You're better off making your own speeches."

"Excuse me, I'm the father here," Ben said gruffly. "It's _my _responsibility."

"Well, fine, but sometimes your actions—or objects--" Lizzy said, nodding at the ring with a wider grin, "speak louder than words."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Molly with a gracious, smiling nod, glancing at her scowling fiancé.

"Cool," Lizzy said.

Jane had her arms folded, watching them with a slight frown. Ben was doing his best not to meet his eldest daughter's eye. Molly was doing her best not to notice.

"So," Lizzy said dryly, "are you going to have kids?"

Both Molly and Ben turned to her sharply, Molly's mouth open in a half laugh and Ben still scowling, and Jane hissed, "_Lizzy._"

"What?" Lizzy asked, frowning back.

"I'm happy with the ones I have," Ben said evenly, and when Jane turned back to him with a slight guilt-filled frown, Lizzy couldn't help but wonder if that was the response Ben Bennet had been going for.

"Bummer," Lizzy muttered, crossing her arms and leaning back against the seat. "I always wondered what it'd be like to have a little brother."

"Not a little sister?" Molly said, smiling like there was a joke coming.

Lizzy felt obliged to give her one and turned to her twin with a smug grin, ignoring her sister's stern troubled stare. "Jane's shorter than me."

"I'm sorry," Ben said.

"Well, I don't really _mind_ exactly," Lizzy said with a snort, "and I can't see how Jane's height is your fault."

"No," Ben said and looked up at his children. "I'm sorry I never stuck around long enough for you two to _have_ younger siblings."

Jane's stare softened, just a little. Lizzy raised her eyebrows and waited.

"I know that's not enough, and I know you don't understand," Ben said, slowly and carefully. Lizzy felt her sister take her hand under the table, and she squeezed back gently. Molly Brettman was watching Ben with a steady, encouraging smile. "If either of you were ever in the position I was in, you would have stayed, but both of you girls are braver and better people than I'll ever be. I'm proud to have known you, even if I was too scared to raise you. I'm sorry, I regret it, and I thought you should know—"

Ben stopped, looked down at his big, clasped hands. For a second, he looked like he might cry. Molly's gaze turned to the Bennet twins.

"It's okay, Dad," Lizzy said quietly, and Jane nodded too.

Ben looked up with such an unsteady grin that Lizzy stood up and hugged him, awkwardly from the side because she was standing and he was still seated. He reached up and squeezed the top of her arm with a large calloused hand, and the others looked on, Jane with a determined, almost dogged stare and Molly with an affection that Lizzy appreciated, for her father's sake.

"I think," Lizzy said finally, straightening up and putting a hand on the top of her father's balding head, "that we have a good reason to celebrate."

"What?" Ben asked with a short laugh, as Molly Brettman placed her hand, the one with the ring, on top of both of his. "An apology?"

"I was thinking your _engagement_, but you can drink to whatever you want," Lizzy replied with a quick grin, watching Jane and Molly exchange glances over the table. Molly smiled first, and then Jane, hesitantly. "Jane, do we still have that bottle of wine? The one Charlotte gave us for Christmas?"

"I thought we were saving that," Jane protested.

"For what? Graduation?" Lizzy said, opening cabinet doors and searching. "Where'd we put it?"

"With the olive oil and stuff," Jane replied.

Lizzy opened the door above the refrigerator. "Bingo," she said, recognizing the tall bottles inside, and reached for it. "Who wants some?"

"Well, honey, how 'bout it?" Ben said. Lizzy looked his way quickly, wondering who he was talking to, but her father was grinning at Molly. "Turn off your taste-buds for college fare?"

"Uh-oh," said Lizzy, one hand around the wine bottle and the other rummaging through the drawers for the bottle opener. "Do we have some wine snobs in the house?"

"Only one," Ben corrected.

"I'm converting you already, though," Molly said wryly. "I can tell."

"I'll have some, Lizzy," Jane said with a smile, as Lizzy cut off the foil and handed the bottle and opener to her father.

"Me, too," Ben said, screwing the opener into the cork and pulling it out. "And you Molly? Feeling brave tonight?"

Molly shook her head, smiling. "I'll take some, Lizzy. I'm sure it's fine."

Lizzy gathered four wine glasses in her hands and brought them to the table, and when Ben finished pouring the wine, they clinked glasses together, and the twins chimed, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Molly said graciously.

"Is it okay with you two?" Ben asked them, but Lizzy noticed that he was only looking at Jane.

"Of course!" Jane said brightly. "I'm happy for you."

Lizzy refrained from pointing out that her sister had reacted about the same way when Charlotte announced her engagement to Collins.

"Well," Lizzy said slowly, and when Molly turned to her with narrowed eyes and Ben with wide ones, she let a slow grin grow on her face. "I can't believe you're marrying our teacher."

"Elizabeth, I don't believe I've ever had you in my class," Professor Brettman replied.

"Obviously, otherwise you'd know that I don't answer to Elizabeth," she amended. "That's the first thing you need to learn as our new stepmom. Call me Lizzy."

"Or Zippy," Ben said, grinning back. "And you didn't answer to that at first either."

Jane gasped, her hands over her mouth. "You're going to be our _stepmother_."

Lizzy laughed and hugged her sister around the shoulders. "When's the ceremony?"

"Christmas," Molly said firmly.

"We didn't talk about this," Ben said turning to her.

"October break, I have a conference, and Thanksgiving is too short," Molly reminded him with a small smile. "Do you want to have a proper honeymoon or not?"

"Christmas, then," Ben said mollified, and Lizzy laughed to hear her father so tractable.

"How's the wine?" Jane asked her stepmother-to-be.

Molly looked at the glass ruefully, and Ben laughed. "I don't think she's tried it yet."

"I'm getting to it," she told him, picking up her wine with a determined scowl, but she caught sight of something in the kitchen that made her lower the glass again.

"Hi," said a soft voice behind them, and everyone at the table turned to see Lydia, freshly showered but still hollow-eyed, wearing a baggy blue t-shirt and Care-Bear pajama bottoms, and standing next to the fridge. Her face was carefully blank, but when her gaze met anyone else's, it was defiant.

Jane put her wine glass down hurriedly.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Lizzy said with a smile.

"I couldn't sleep," Lydia admitted.

Lizzy pressed the wine cork back into the bottle. "Well, you still can't have any."

"Bad for the baby," Lydia agreed, opening the freezer and pulling out a creamsicle.

"Sure," Lizzy said, "but I was going to say that you're just plain underage." Lydia closed the freezer and turned back to the table like she was waiting for someone to announce a verdict. "You coming to me, or am I going to have to get up?"

Lydia walked obligingly across the room and—as soon as Lizzy had pushed away from the table—sat in her lap. Lizzy hugged her cousin crookedly around the neck.

"Hey, short stuff," Ben said.

"Hey," Lydia said. The corners of her mouth quirked.

Lizzy took that as a good sign and grinned.

"How are you feeling?" Molly asked, more gently than she'd spoken to the twins.

"I'm not getting an abortion," Lydia told them.

Lizzy considered, wrinkling her nose and nodding. "Okay. That narrows down your options to two."

"Three," Lydia corrected, and now she was smiling, just a little, trembling a little around the mouth, as she peeled the wrapper from the creamsicle. "I liked your beating the shit out of Wickham idea."

Lizzy ruffled her cousin's hair. "You've been listening for a while, huh?"

Lydia gripped Lizzy's forearm with a white-knuckled hand. "I'm afraid—"

"Don't be scared," Jane said, and her chair squeaked against the floor as she scrambled to her feet.

"—of getting stretch marks," Lydia told Lizzy seriously.

Lizzy's gaze automatically traveled to her cousin's stomach. There was nothing yet, not even the smallest bump, nothing that needed to be passed off as Lydia's Freshman Fifteen. Lizzy considered. Maybe it deserved a photograph anyway. Lydia might like to have it. Pre-stretch marks.

Molly and Ben were exchanging they-don't-know-what-they're-getting-into look. Jane looked at Lizzy, halfway between laughter and concern.

"Well," said Lizzy finally. "We'll have to buy you some cocoa butter then."

2.

Lydia was caught between Option Two and Three. She'd posted a new topic on www. Babyhood. com: _should i give my baby up for adoption,_ a panel that she checked more often that her email. When Lizzy took her on a grocery run, she'd bought _What to Expect When You're Expecting_, a pair of baby shoes, and a can of formula milk that made Jane balk when she found. Lizzy found herself caught halfway between being supportive of Lydia and convincing Jane that all they needed to do was be supportive.

"She had tears in her eyes when you suggested shopping last night," Jane pointed out, a few days after they returned from Boston. Lydia was still asleep, or at least, she hadn't gotten out of bed. It was hard to tell these days when she was sleeping or faking it. Lizzy fished her keys out of her purse. "_Maternity_ shopping," Lizzy pointed out, "and I just want to get it over with before Aunt Leah freezes the bank account tied to Lydia's debit card."

"Lizzy," Jane said, as Lizzy scooped up a stack of enveloped on the kitchen table. "She's not mature enough to make this kind of decision."

"Look—I think the clothes thing is the only way Lydia knows how to express all these new maternal feelings that keep cropping up," Lizzy said quietly, standing in front of the door. Jane was stubbornly silent, and Lizzy retaliated only by unlocking the front door and opening it. "I need to mail these. Tell Lydia I'll be back to pick her up soon, okay?"

"Fine," Jane sighed, and Lizzy decided she had too much to do to stop and deal with Jane's passive-aggressive temper.

Some things are unavoidable. Bills, for instance, will always come no matter what happens in your life, and someone will need to pay them. After sorting through the mail that Jane had forgotten on the kitchen counter, Lizzy found at least three pressing bills, paid them, and balanced her checkbook before her twin woke up and asked her about Lydia again. It wasn't that Lizzy minded talking about Lydia; it was that they'd been talking about Lydia for the last two days without reaching any sort of decision. There was too much to do to waste time worrying.

On the way to post office, Lizzy added to her to-do list at every stoplight:

Bills (mail)

Maternity wear (Baby Bloomers)

Grocery—dinner (spaghetti? Ckn salad?) MORE COFFEE

Schedule appt. w/ thesis advisor

Vickroot Bkstore books for semester

Call Sam and Diana? (Check: do they get back today or tomorrow?)

Call and thank Will

Lizzy pulled at the mail drop and reconsidered number 7. There was no way she could just call Will. She didn't _have_ his phone number. Or his e-mail address. _Or_ his mailing address. Lizzy was pretty sure that she could look up Pemberley's address online, but she had no way of knowing if Will would still be there. Probably not—his album was due to come out soon; he would have to be back in the states to promote it.

It surprised Lizzy that it bothered her: having no way to contact him. It could be—Lizzy mused as she rolled down her window and shoved the bills through the appropriate slot—that she hated owing anybody a favor. Or, she thought, putting the car back into drive, it might have something to do with needing a friend to talk to.

Lizzy stopped, her hand still on the shift, wondering: Friend? When were she and Will 'friends'? She guessed that was true enough. Friends—she and Will could've been great friends if there wasn't all that other—

_HONK!_

Lizzy jumped and glanced in her rearview mirror resentfully. The driver behind her—an older man with his hair dyed redder than Jane's—was apparently getting impatient, so Lizzy took her foot off the brake and eased the car forward—rebelliously slow—watching the man seethe behind her.

Her phone rang at the third stoplight on her way back.

"Hello?"

"Lizzy?"

Lizzy nestled the phone against her shoulder so she could keep both hands on the wheel. "Aunt Diana? So you and Sam got back okay?"

"What?" Something slammed in the background—maybe a door. "Oh, right—of course."

Diana sounded frazzled, but it was Wednesday. It was normal for Diana to be stressed on Wednesday. Most of the Keefe-Moore Agency's deadlines were on Thursday's, after all.

"I was getting ready to call you," Lizzy replied. "Sorry I had to leave so fast. Lydia was lost in Boston, and—"

"Right, your Will explained," Diana said. "We understand, but—"

"He's _not_ my Will."

"Lizzy, will you just shut up for a second?" Diana snapped. "I'm trying to tell you something. I'm afraid Sam did something stupid."

"_How_ stupid?" Lizzy said, pausing at the stoplight.

"He asked Grace how Lydia was," Diana replied. "They were talking about business, he said, and it just slipped—"

"When?" Lizzy asked sharply.

"An hour or so ago." There was a very uncomfortable feeling settling in Lizzy's stomach. "He just called me." Suddenly, two stoplights and a short university drive seemed way too far away from home. "I figured you should know." The light changed and Lizzy accelerated so quickly her engine protested. "Lizzy, was that your_ car_?"

"What did Sam say _exactly_?" Lizzy replied.

"He said Grace sounded more pissed than when she found out your mom got married in Vegas."

"_Shit_."

"Lizzy, slow down or you'll get a ticket, which a) you can't afford and b) will slow you down."

"Doesn't matter," Lizzy said, drawing up behind a silver Mercedes with a license plate reading "GRACE-US". "She's here, and I'm back." She parked, unbuckled, and reached for her purse, listening to Diana curse and promise to commit several counts of domestic abuse towards her husband when Sam got home. "Don't worry about it. Thanks for the warning, but I gotta go." Lizzy was taking the steps two at a time, house key already in hand.

"You better let me know how it goes. I don't want to beat up Sam for nothing."

"Sure. Bye." Lizzy slapped her cell phone shut, shoved it in her pocket, and unlocked her door, and the first thing she heard when she walked in was "…tell your grandmother. She must be turning in her grave now. Maybe if you'd met _her_, you wouldn't have turned out like this."

"Mom, _please_—"

From the end of the hall, Lizzy could see Aunt Grace pacing in front of the coffee table; when she got closer, Lydia came into the frame next, sitting on the couch knees drawn up to her chin, cornered but proud. Jane was perched on the arm of the sofa, hands over her mouth, her gaze shifting from Lydia to her twin, as Lizzy entered the room.

"The way I heard it, you would have never married Uncle Jeremy if Lydia's grandmother was still alive," Lizzy said. Grace whirled, and Lizzy met her aunt's glare with a wry grin. Jane's shoulders relaxed, but Lydia barely looked up. She was so white that the freckles on her nose blazed. Aunt Leah was just as white, but a vengeful white, the kind that Lizzy associated with Snow White's wicked stepmother. The extra-long lapels on her black suit and red, red fingernail polish didn't change that impression much. "I also heard," Lizzy added, "that when you met, she called you 'white trash' and sent you packing."

"Jane Elizabeth Bennet, I told you that in _confidence_," snapped a voice in the kitchen.

"_Mom_?" said Lizzy aghast.

Mrs. Bennet stood near the sink, a glass of water in one hand and pills cupped in the other. She raised one eyebrow at her youngest daughter and waited.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Lizzy sputtered.

"Moral support," Mrs. Bennet replied, crossing the room and handing the water and aspirin to Grace. "There you go. That'll take the edge off the headache."

"Thanks, Becky," Grace murmured.

Lydia's gaze was on the floor; Jane's eyes were on her sister's.

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy snapped. "You came to keep me and Jane in line, didn't you?"

"Not everything is about you, Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet retorted.

Jane made a sound behind her hands.

Lizzy's mouth fell open, and then she closed it, scowling, fists clenched. "Get out," Lizzy said, jerking her chin back toward the door. "Get out of my _home_."

Mrs. Bennet took a seat in the armchair nearest Grace, crossing her legs primly. "We pay just as much rent as you do."

Aunt Grace was staring Lizzy down with a scornful sneer that the Bennet twins recognized as their mother's. "She does give you a lot of trouble, doesn't she, Becky?"

"Not as much trouble as I'll give you," Lizzy muttered before her mother could answer.

"Honestly, Lizzy, now you just sound like a _child,"_ scolded Mrs. Bennet.

Lizzy took a deep breath and tried to control her temper. She felt Jane look at her again, but Lizzy wasn't sure yet if she could look back without glaring.

"So," said Grace, turning back to her daughter, "have you made an appointment, or can you not even manage that for yourself?"

Lizzy crossed her arms. "I think somebody's pissed that Lydia called _us_ and not Mommy."

"_Lizzy_," Mrs. Bennet said coldly, "even you have to admit that a mother has a right to discuss pregnancy with her daughter."

"_Discuss_, yes—Insult, _no_," Lizzy snapped back.

"If you would be quiet, we might—" Mrs. Bennet started.

"I'm not going to make an appointment," Lydia said quietly, head bent so that her long blonde hair curtained her face from view.

Grace blinked twice. "This isn't the time for moral scruples, Lydia."

Lydia was looking at the carpet. "It's not…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm not against…" Lizzy reached across the couch and took her cousin's hand. "I just don't think I could live wondering what our baby would be like."

"You don't think you could live?" Grace replied. She was pacing again. "I'd like to see you try to live like this. You think you can pay for baby clothes _and_ HBO? You think you can go to school and breast-fed at the same time?"

"It's been done," Lydia said. Her grip on Lizzy's hand was so tight that it hurt, but she was meeting her mother's eye stoutly.

"You want to try?" Grace said scornfully, gathering her purse—black leather, and Coach by the looks of it. "Fine. But I'll let you know, you little tramp, you _slut_—"

"Give it a rest, Grace." Mrs. Bennet rose wearily from her chair and picked up a small green canvas bag behind it. "Or I'll tell them to count back between Lydia's birthday and your anniversary, and we'll figure out exactly how white _your_ wedding was."

"_Mom!_" Jane cried shocked.

Lydia was counting on her hands and frowning.

Mouth agape, Lizzy glanced from her mother to her aunt.

Grace's face had become almost as red as her fingernails, which completely ruined the Wicked Witch impression. "Becky, you can't tell me—"

"I'll tell you whatever I feel like," Mrs. Bennet said, fishing through the canvas bag. "And I don't feel like listening to you talk to my god-daughter that way.—Here we are." The keys fell out of her bag jangling, and Mrs. Bennet held them out to her sister, smiling. "Ready?"

Aunt Grace snatched the keys out of her sister's hand and glared long enough that the Bennet twins exchanged glances: Jane's aghast, Lizzy's amused. Then Grace marched stiffly out the door—"Bye, Mom," whispered Lydia—and slammed it.

"That's my cue," said Mrs. Bennet in a singsong and sauntered to the door, canvas bag swaying on her arm.

"Mom, thanks," Lizzy said with a smile as hesitant as Jane's.

Mrs. Bennet turned back quickly, looking Lizzy up and down with a suspicious frown, more surprised than touched, but Lizzy's attention had already returned to Lydia.

"Jane," Mrs. Bennet said, "I'm visiting Grace at the country house all week. Come by if you can."

"Okay, Mom," Jane said.

"You all right, Lydia?" Lizzy asked softly.

Lydia nodded, tears lining her lashes, and Lizzy hugged her gently. After the door opened and closed behind Mrs. Bennet, Jane came and took a seat on Lydia's other side, clasping her hand tightly.

"We'll help you," Jane told Lydia, trying to smile.

"I—" began Lydia before running into the bathroom. Then the twins heard their cousin retching in the toilet.

"Morning sickness?" Lizzy asked.

Jane shook her head. "I think it's too soon for that. Nerves, probably," she explained, as they both got up to hold back Lydia's hair.

After Lydia and Jane had fallen asleep in front of _Notting Hill_ (Lydia's cinema therapy-of-choice), Lizzy called Aunt Diana back. Silverware clinked in the background; Aunt Diana was at a dinner party. "So—is your cousin disowned?"

"At the moment."

"How is she?"

"Asleep." Tucked in with a quilt around her. Her head against Jane's shoulder. They could be sisters—Lydia and Jane; they had the same high cheekbones and long slim frames. There was a picture there, if Lizzy could find her camera without waking them.

"She'll be okay?" Aunt Diana asked.

Lizzy smiled a little. "She'll be okay."

"Good—I'll tell Sam that. He's biting his fingernails across the table. I've got to go now, but I expect more out of you later."

"Sure," Lizzy said and hung up.

After a moment, holding the phone in both hands, she sighed and reached across the pizza boxes (their dinner, hours before) for her purse. She snagged her to-do list out of the side pocket and revised it, crossing out 1, 4 (she'd called Professor Murray before calling for pizza), and 6. She added:

Financial Aid Office/Vickroot—Lydia

Health Insurance—Lydia

Ben and Jerry's Mint Cookie—Lydia

Check—when do cravings start in pregnancy?

As an afterthought, she crossed off 7: Will wouldn't mind waiting to be thanked until things settled down a little.

3.

At certain busy times in a college student's life, unnecessary activities get shaved away from her schedule. Sleep especially becomes optional. Lizzy was averaging about five hours a night.

If anyone asked her what kept her so busy, Lizzy would shrug and say, "Stuff." Part of it was that she was running twice as many errands as usual and three times as many trips to the grocery store. Lydia developed a new craving almost every day ("She's probably just imagining them," Jane told her twin. "It's still too soon."), and Lizzy hadn't yet figured out a nice way to tell her cousin that she'd rather sleep than go find Lydia the materials for a tuna, pickles, and peanut butter sandwich. Then, there was that job Lizzy took, acting as teaching assistant for her advisor. Lizzy justified it, explaining that it wasn't too big of a time commitment, that she only worked when Lydia had class, and Lydia had decided to take only three credits this semester. Lizzy was, of course, also trying to finish her thesis. It gave her the perfect excuse to stay at home—laptop open at the kitchen table, books stacked around her, pen in her hair—in case Lydia needed her. It was really no wonder that she hadn't developed a photograph since Pemberley or that she hadn't gotten a full night's rest since she was getting over the transatlantic jet lag.

She'd done this before, of course, usually during finals week, but the dreams were what bothered her the most. When she slept through the night, she usually didn't remember her dreams, but at only five hours, her alarm usually woke her up in the middle of one. Then its images would haunt her throughout the better part of the morning:

Her mother telling her, "You should've never been born," and a blank-faced doctor adding, "_Alive_."

Will walking away, his shoulders squared against the rain, just as he had at Rosings, except this was at Netherfield with its high lofty ceilings, or at Pemberley with its great green lawn.

Jane and Lydia asleep on the couch; a monster under it, invisible in the dusty darkness, except for its eyes, bright and yellow.

A hospital: Lydia is in labor, sweat at her temples, fear in her frown. Something has gone wrong. Lizzy is trying to scream, but she has no voice.

Will kissing her temple, his hand cradling the nape of her neck. Telling her, "You'll be all right, Lizzy."

(Well, to be honest, Lizzy didn't mind that last one all that much.)

The dreams certainly explained why she had trouble sleeping. She wrestled with her blanket and pillows for at least thirty minutes after she climbed into bed, and she could only trick herself into sleeping when she pretended a gentle hand was giving her a backrub.

On a certain Thursday, just after a trip to the grocery store to pick up some pasta for dinner and order a cake for Lydia's birthday, Lizzy decided that this might be the day she deserved a nap. It was a beautiful day—there was the barest hint of fall in the breeze and not a cloud in the bright sky. She could just curl up on the window seat with Jane's yellow quilt, maybe with a book, and let the world drift away.

Jane was standing in front of the closed bathroom door when Lizzy walked in. The line between her twin's red brows made Lizzy reconsider her nap.

"What's wrong?" Lizzy said, dumping the grocery bags on the kitchen table and unslinging her purse from her shoulder.

"Morning sickness," Jane replied.

"Oh." Halfway to the fridge, spaghetti sauce in hand, Lizzy stopped, turned around, and thought. "I thought you said it was too early for that."

Jane shrugged, pressing her lips together tight. "That's what she called it."

Lizzy walked up and tried the door. It was locked. "How long has she been in there?"

"About two and a half hours," Jane said.

"Lydia," Lizzy called through the door. When no one replied, Lizzy repeated louder, "Lydia, answer me if you can."

The Bennet twins listened. Lizzy even pressed her ear to the door. She thought she heard a groan, very muffled, but she was almost sure.

"Jane," Lizzy said sharply, "there's a Philips head screwdriver in the junk drawer."

"Which one?" Jane asked, moving to the kitchen. "The one next to the sink or the one under the phone?"

"The sink—Lydia?" It was worth one more try. No use getting worked up over indigestion, if that was all it was. Lydia didn't answer. "We're coming in," Lizzy continued. "If you're right next to the door, you might want to back away so we don't hit you."

Jane came back and pressed the screwdriver into her sister's hand. Lizzy set to work on separating the doorknob from the door, one screwdriver at a time.

"Lizzy…" Jane started worriedly, but Lizzy just shook her head. When the doorknob was loose enough, Lizzy jostled it, and the bathroom door swung open.

There was Lydia, curled up on the floor, eyes squeezed shut.

There was so much blood.

4.

Lizzy knew she should feel more than this. Thoughts should be rampaging through her head, she should want to cry, or at least want to be held, but she was just so tired. Most of her thoughts—the ones nudged carefully away from her cousin—tended toward coffee. Or sleep. The best Lizzy could muster was a tight feeling, sharp in her chest if she tried to breathe too deeply, a lot like what happens after when you swim underwater for longer than your lungs will allow.

They were in the hospital. Lydia had finally been assigned to Room 202. After six hours of waiting, six hours of Lizzy and Jane watching nurses and doctors in green scrubs and white masks walk past the swinging doors that Lydia had disappeared behind, she'd lost the baby. One of the doctors had gone in to tell Lydia the news. They wouldn't allow either Jane or Lizzy to be there (immediate family only, they said).

Lizzy couldn't help but wonder—if the medical staff hadn't read Lydia's chart, if they hadn't known how young she was, would they have worked a little bit harder to stop the miscarriage? Would Lydia's baby still be alive? But that wasn't fair. Jane—the doctor-to-be—would be the first one to tell her so.

"I thought she was dead," Jane whispered to Lizzy. It was the first time either of the Bennet twins had spoken to each other for hours.

"That's understandable," Lizzy replied automatically.

"It just looked like…" Jane murmured.

Lizzy nodded, uncrossing her arms and bracing herself against the wall.

Jane turned halfway to her sister, eyes dropped to the floor. "I thought she killed herself."

Lizzy looked up at her sister, saw the horrified frown, and shrugged lightly with a sympathetic smile. "You and Lydia just watched _The Virgin Suicides_. You're bound to have it on the brain for a little while."

"I just froze," Jane said sadly.

She had. She'd stood in the doorway and looked on until Lizzy pushed her out of the way.

"I'm a doctor, or I will be soon," Jane said.

Research doctor, Lizzy almost reminded her sister, which is a whole different kind of stress. But that might not come off as comforting as she intended it.

"I should've been checking her vitals or something." She sounded near tears.

"Well," Lizzy said, her voice raw in her throat, "it's different when it's family, right?"

"_You're_ family," Jane reminded her. "_You_ didn't freeze up."

She hadn't. She'd walked into the bathroom, face grim, and bent towards her cousin to ask again, "Lydia? _Lydia_—answer me if you can." Lydia had opened her eyes and turned a little toward the door, and Lizzy had taken that as all the answer she was going to get. She'd smoothed her cousin's long hair, sticky with blood, from her face and told her sister to call 911.

Lizzy didn't know what else to say.

Someone had painted the hospital walls blue. It was supposed to be calming. Rolling beds lined the walls, empty and waiting for someone hurt or screaming. There was a photograph in it, if Lizzy could figure out how to take it. If she had a camera with her.

At the end of the corridor, Lizzy noticed a tall dark-haired man trying to punch coffee out of a Nescafe vending machine. She knew he wasn't Will.—He was about the right age, but Will would never slouch his shoulders like that. His posture was so much stiffer; she'd teased him about it in London.—but the tightness in her chest got tighter with disappointment when the man turned around, coffee steaming in a Styrofoam cup, and she didn't see Will's dark eyes meeting hers. Lizzy had to remind herself that Will had no reason to be here.

"What was she saying?" Jane asked.

Lizzy yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "What?"

"Lydia," Jane explained. "When we were waiting for the ambulance. She kept repeating something. It was too quiet for me to hear. What was she saying?"

"She said it wasn't her fault," Lizzy said, trying not to remember the ravaged look on Lydia had, pale-faced and wide-eyed, blood smeared on her cheek. "That it just happened."

"So she…" Jane started hesitantly.

"She had a miscarriage," Lizzy said firmly, "_just_ a miscarriage. Nothing else."

Jane looked at the floor and crossed her arms, her red hair falling over her face. Lizzy stared out the window across from her cousin's door, watching the night creep along the trees. She couldn't think of a thing to say to Lydia. She wasn't sure there was anything to say.

"Who's going to sign her papers?" Jane asked. "We can't. We're not her guardians."

"She will," Lizzy answered.

"Lizzy, she's a minor."

"Not anymore," Lizzy said, checking her watch. "As of twelve minutes ago, Lydia's eighteen."

"Oh my God," Jane murmured, hand over her mouth.

"Yeah," Lizzy replied. She wondered if it was worth anything to pick up the cake. If she were Lydia, she wouldn't even want to see it.

After a few minutes, Jane said with a half-hearted smile, "At least this solves some of her problem."

"Don't say that, Jane." Lizzy pretended it was fatigue that made her voice shake. "It's too early for silver lining and all that crap."

They were silent for a moment. A nurse passed without giving them a glance. Then Jane said, "I'm sor—"

"Miss Bennet?" said a male voice. Both sisters turned to watch a doctor, closing the door to Lydia's room. He was young, barely old enough to have finished his internship, and unmarried, judging by the way he was looking at Jane, whose red-rimmed eyes made her seem particularly enchanting.

"How is she?" Jane asked.

The doctor smiled, kindly enough, but with all the concern in his face, he looked like he was a second away from stroking Jane's hair and promising everything will be all right. "She's fine. A little weak, but nothing a few days' rest won't clear up."

Lizzy refrained from asking him if he wanted to buy her sister a drink, maybe a cup of hospital cafeteria coffee. "How is she really?"

"Very unsettled, you might say," said the young doctor, straightening. "Or 'grave' is a better word—"

"Can we see her?" Lizzy asked sharply.

The young doctor turned back to the elder Bennet twin, who hooked her red hair behind her ears. "She said she wanted to see Lizzy."

Jane's mouth opened, a hesitant frown between her eyebrows. "Can't we both go in?"

"She requested Lizzy," said the doctor.

Lizzy knew Jane was hurt, but she could only comfort one person at a time. She kissed Jane's cheek before opening Lydia's door. She worried a little more when she heard the young doctor start to comfort her pretty sister.

Lydia was sitting up in the bed. The sheets were still tucked underneath the mattress. Lizzy could see the imprints of her cousin's knees under the taut sheets. Lydia's hospital gown was pink with yellow ducks. She was only slightly less pale than she'd been when the Bennet twins found her in the bathroom, and the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. Her eyes had a haunted look in them.

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said. It was so hard to breathe around that tight knot in her chest. "I'm so sorry."

Lydia's eyes had tears in them now. She raised her arms, and Lizzy moved into them, holding her cousin tightly. Lizzy knew Lydia was crying—she felt her shirt get wet at the shoulder—but neither of them made a sound.

"About Jane," Lydia said finally, taking a deep breath. Lizzy waited. "It's just—sometimes I feel like she's judging me."

"Oh," Lizzy said. After a pause, she added, "Jane would never do anything to hurt you. Not in a million years."

Lydia sniffed and shrugged, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "She's just so perfect, you know? She can't ever understand…"

When Lydia didn't finish, Lizzy felt herself nod and hug her cousin again, startled and ashamed and so, so tired.

5.

They got Lydia home. Jane had gotten there first and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom; good training, she said, for the grunt work she would have to do as a medical intern. Lydia surprised both the twins by marching straight into the bathroom. To use the toilet, she said, but the twins noticed that she stayed inside too long for any regular bathroom visit. When she came out, her eyes were red but dry.

They made Lydia eat. Lydia insisted that she wasn't hungry, but Jane had made Lydia's favorite: little pizzas: English muffins with pizza sauce and mozzarella on them, baked in the oven. And Lizzy bribed her with a promise to do all of Lydia's laundry for a month. (And Lydia went through a lot of laundry.)

They made Lydia sleep. She told them that she slept at the hospital, but Lizzy ordered her to go to her room, lie on her bed, and close her eyes for twenty minutes. She was lightly snoring in six, and the twins decided to follow her example. Jane seemed to fall asleep fin, but Lizzy curled up in bed, glancing around at her ceiling, her clock, her books, and her camera bag. With a slight smile, she got up, dug around for the negatives she'd prepared at Pemberley, and headed for her darkroom.

Lizzy had been too busy to go through any pictures from her trip to England, so she spent the rest of the afternoon making up for lost time. Of the photographs she developed, these were her favorites:

The view from Pemberley lawn, the series of photographs—what had she been watching? A flock of ducks, rising from the little lake? These were the ones that she took when she was supposed to be running away. The ones that caught Will's climbing the hill along the left side of the frame. She enjoyed watching his expression change, even though she hadn't really paid much attention at the time. His face was too small and blurry to make out in the first two photographs, but in the third, Will's frown was sharp with attention. She laughed a little as the fourth photograph developed and she saw Will's shock. In the fifth, his shock softened into surprise, a "delighted" surprise, and Lizzy was pretty sure that this was the first time she'd seen his smile caught on film.

Dinner in London. A little pizza place that Giana picked out. The picture caught the Darcy siblings, sitting across the table in a booth. Will had just returned from the bathroom, but Giana had taken advantage of his absence: she'd lifted the cheese off the pizza slice on his plate and hidden a yellow chili pepper underneath. ("He's bound to notice that," Lizzy pointed out, but Giana shook her head. "He's rather distracted today," Giana replied, looking pointedly at Lizzy.) Will sat down and took a bite. He must have tasted it, but all he did was turn to his sister and watch her grin at him as he finished the rest of his pizza. Then he dusted off his fingers, sat back, and looked at Lizzy for a few seconds before his eyes started to water. Lizzy laughed with Giana and passed her water down the table toward him, which he finished off gratefully. "Giana's not always like this," he told her, voice hoarse. "She's quite bold when you're around. Fitz has the same effect." "I've got an ally," Giana explained beaming, and Will ruffled her hair.  
The photograph turned out really well: the pizza was raised to Will's mouth, covering the bottom half of Will's face, but you could see Will's eyes, brows pinched, glancing suspiciously at his little sister. Giana looked back, sidelong, mouth squeezed shut and bursting to laugh.

This one Lizzy didn't take. She was in it, and so was Will. On the train, nighttime black in the window. Will was sitting next to it, one arm resting on the windowsill and the other along the seat behind him. Lizzy is asleep at Will's shoulder, mouth slightly open. Lizzy knew it wasn't really a good picture of her, but the expression on Will's face: he's looking straight into the camera and grinning like a boy.

She took this one. A white arch—with woodcarvings adorning the curves. Through it, with her back turned to the camera, Giana is playing a Baby Grand Piano, which gleams in the light from the window beyond. Her head is bent over the keys. She is concentrating. In the foreground—peering at his sister around the right side of the arch—is Will, smiling a little, his shoulder against the wall and one foot tucked behind his ankle.

Lizzy had walked through Pemberley uncomfortably. The night before, she'd left the Darcys at the train station to Cynthia Grayson and Cynthia Grayson's car—in a hurry, flustered to find herself walking up on Will's shoulder.

Cynthia had seen her in, pointed out the corridor where she could find the owners of the house, and Lizzy had sidestepped tarps and paint cans, spotting Will down the hall and dreading the moment he turned around and she'd have to confront the expression on his face.

But she'd walked pretty silently (she was wearing flats). He'd been watching Giana and smiling, and Lizzy had seen the shot and taken it.

He turned when he heard the camera click, not surprised exactly but his grin got a little wider. He motioned her to one side, and she took two more steps to stand behind him at the side of the arch.

"She only practices alone," Will explained. "She gets rather nervous."

"She's good," Lizzy murmured, embarrassed at her own shyness.

"She's _brilliant_," Will corrected, and the grin on his face was proud, a nice kind of proud, brotherly even. "She's been accepted to NYU for the fall, but really she's going to try for Juilliard."

"The family business?" Lizzy asked with a small smile.

"No—of course not. Listen to her. She's a much better musician than I am," Will said, and Lizzy did her best to hide her suspicion that he was only being modest for her sake. Then he turned back to his sister, and Lizzy felt guilty for even suspecting—

There was a knock at the door, and Lizzy jumped, spilling fix out of its tub. "Lizzy!" It was Jane. "You're in there, right?"

"Yeah," replied Lizzy, squinting at her watch and not believing that she'd been in there for as long as it said she had.

"Get to a good stopping place if you can," Jane said. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Okay," Lizzy said, moving the last picture of Will watching Giana practice out of the fix and into the rinse.

She had gone through most of her negatives, developing something from each roll. Filing away her film, she noticed bemusedly that most of the photographs hanging to dry on the clotheslines around her had Will's face on them. She would have to make sure Lydia didn't come in the darkroom any time soon or her cousin would suspect her of having a stalker-like fixation on B.F.D.'s Dar. It'd be really embarrassing if Lydia accused her of falling in love with a rock star—

Lizzy yelped and dropped the second stack of negatives she'd just picked up, scattering them all over the door. "_Fuck_." She paused and looked around again, Will's face staring at her from every corner. "_FUCK!_"

"Lizzy, are you okay?" her sister called.

"I'm okay," Lizzy heard herself shout back.

And she was. She was fine, except for one little thing.

Lizzy was in love with Will Darcy.

6.

Sometimes, in today's society, things don't work out as they're planned, and returns must be made accordingly. The Olympic runner breaks his leg a couple weeks before the races and sends the new jogging suit back to Nike. The ex-bride must return a white gown to the bridal shoppe, and an almost mother must return her maternity ware to the baby store.

"It kind of reminds me of Ernest Hemingway's six-word story: 'For Sale. Baby shoes. Never used.'" Lydia said, digging through a Baby Bloomers bag for the receipt.

Lizzy watched her cousin and waited, not sure if this was supposed to be a joke. Lydia had made a whole bunch of cracks since she'd lost the baby a couple days ago. All of them would've been completely unfeeling out of any mouth but hers.

"I guess that this sailor outfit would've looked stupid," Lydia said thoughtfully. She pulled it out of the Tyke Tailors bag, shook it out twice, and folded it lovingly, price tag on the inside. "Especially if the baby turned out to be a girl, but you know, I just assumed I'd have a boy. And that he'd look like Jack. And I always knew Jack would look good in a uniform."

Lizzy knew she should say something, but she didn't know how to break it to Lydia that they'd probably never see Wickham again. Lizzy certainly wouldn't want anyone telling her she'd never see Will again, even though she had a kind of grating fear that it was the truth. Instead she stood up, kissed the top of her cousin's head, and grabbed her keys.

Lydia looked up smiling, and Lizzy might have been fooled if she hadn't seen her cousin's lower lip trembling. "At least now I won't get stretch marks."

Lizzy half-grinned. "Should we return the cocoa butter then?"

"No, I'll still use it. I like the smell," Lydia answered, getting up.

"Bleh," Lizzy said, making a face, and started gathering up bags.

"You don't?" Lydia asked.

"Too sweet," Lizzy replied, opening the door.

"Hmm," Lydia said thoughtfully. "That's the difference between you and me, Lizzy. Sweet doesn't bother me."

Lizzy rolled her eyes and ruffled Lydia's hair for revenge.

"Lizzy! You've messed it up!" Lydia cried horrified, heading for the bathroom. "I have to go fix it now."

"No, you don't," Lizzy said, snagging her cousin by the back of her shirt and pushing her out the door. "You can fix it in the car."

In the stairway, the cousins could hear voices yelling—a male and a female. The most Lizzy could catch, as she relocked the door and started down the steps, was the female voice shouting "…can't come up…leave…if you don't, I'll…"

"Lover's quarrel, maybe?" Lydia said, finger-combing her hair.

"I doubt it," Lizzy said, quickening her pace down the steps. "That's _Jane_."

"And the other voice is…" Lydia stopped and peered over the railing. "Is…"

Lizzy glanced back over her shoulder just in firm for Lydia to push past her and race down the steps, Baby Bloomers bag rustling. A flight and a half later, Lizzy heard her cousin should, "Jack!" After that, it took Lizzy about two seconds to get down the stairs.

At the bottom step was Wickham, locked lip-to-lip with Lydia, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands clasped under her bottom. _Click_. She could name it "Reunion (Happy?)" Not if she had anything to do about it.

"Well, shit," Lizzy muttered, dropping a couple bags against the wall and crossing her arms.

"Yeah," said, Jane coming to stand next to Lizzy and help her glare. "This is what I was trying to avoid."

"Did you miss me, love?" Wickham asked Lydia, kissing her chin.

"Of course, you jerk," Lydia murmured. Her hands were in his hair. "I _knew_ you'd come."

Wickham smiled down at her and glanced away. "How 'bout you, Lizzy? Miss me?"

"Sure," Lizzy said sweetly, "so much I wanted to claw your eyes out."

"Lizzy," Lydia scolded, "you don't have to protect me." But the Bennet twins noticed that Wickham quickly lowered Lydia to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Lizzy asked Wickham.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lydia replied, arms around his waist.

"No," Lizzy said firmly, but neither of them were paying any attention to her.

"I've been a terrible bloody git," Wickham was murmuring into Lydia's hair. "I'm sorry, love. I was scared, you know? And I've been so bloody worried about you. I was searching all over Boston before I thought to—"

"Shut up," Lydia said smiling and kissed him again.

Lizzy snorted, and Jane turned to her. "You don't think…?" she started hopefully.

He's not Charlie, Lizzy wanted to say impatiently, but she just set her jaw and shook her head grimly. "I think he found out about the trust funds."

When Wickham's hands started traveling again, perilously close to Lydia's bottom, Lizzy decided that she'd had enough. "Break it up," she hissed. "_Now_."

When neither of them heard her, or pretended not to anyway, Lizzy lost her temper, walked up to them, and shoved Wickham back. He stumbled back farther than Lizzy expected.

"_Lizzy_," Lydia snapped, rushing forward to steady him.

Lizzy responded only by rolling her eyes.

"It's quite all right, love," Wickham said mournfully, wrapping an arm around Lydia's shoulders. "I've been a terrible bastard."

"You said that," Lizzy reminded him coldly, "and no one's arguing."

Wickham glanced halfway to Lizzy and back to Lydia. "I want to make things _right_."

"Good luck," Lizzy muttered.

To Lydia, Wickham continued, "You make me want to be a better man."

"What movie was that from?" Lizzy asked her sister.

"_As Good as it Gets_," Jane replied worriedly. "Lizzy," she added, nodding back at Wickham and Lydia.

He was on one knee and fishing something out of his jeans' pocket, while Lydia looked on, hands over her mouth, eyebrows raised to her hairline.

"Of all the sleazy—" Lizzy started.

"Lizzy, you're _spoiling_ it," Lydia snapped.

By this time, Wickham had the box out and was opening it. He seemed to have trouble locating the hinge, but when he managed, the ring was gold and sparkling.

"Jack…" Lydia murmured, staring at it wide-eyed.

"Lydia, will you marry me?" Wickham asked. His voice sounded odd. Slurred.

"Yes," Lydia answered, eyes shining. "_Yes_." Wickham was swaying to his feet; they were hugging again and Lydia pressed kisses onto Wickham's lip, his neck, his—

"Oh, just _stop_," Jane hissed, and they turned to her in surprise.

"You aren't getting married," Lizzy told them.

"I'm not a child; you can't tell me what to do," Lydia said, tossing her chin up. She didn't seem to notice that Wickham was looking Lizzy up and down warily.

"I'll tell you whatever I want," Lizzy replied evenly, "and you'll do what I say until you stop acting idiotic."

"What's so idiotic about proposing to the mother of your child?" asked Wickham.

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy said shortly. "What kind of guy proposes _drunk_?"

"I'm not drunk," Wickham replied, too quickly.

"Of course not, honey," Lydia soothed. To the Bennet twins, she added, "He's probably just had a shot or two."

"A shot? It's eleven o'clock in the morning!" Jane cried aghast.

"Dunno 'bout shots," Wickham mumbled. He was leaning on Lydia now. "Just finished the bottle."

"The bottle?" Lydia repeated, alarmed. "Of what? Please say beer."

"Tequila," Wickham replied with a rueful grin.

"_Jack_," Lydia scolded, looking up at him with a disappointed frown, "I told you to lay off the hard liquor." To Lizzy and Jane, she explained, "He's all right. It's just his bartending job. They let him take the almost empty bottles home, and his self-discipline isn't very good." When Jane and Lizzy failed to seem comforted, she added, "He's been much worse."

The Bennet twins exchanged glances, and Lizzy struggled to understand that Lydia had just willingly engaged herself to a playboy Brit with an apparent drinking problem.

"Come on, honey," Lydia said, guiding Wickham up the stairs, her arm around his waist. "Let's get you inside."

"He's not allowed in the apartment," Jane said.

"He'll just go to my room and sleep it off," Lydia promised. "You won't even notice him."

"No way," Lizzy said.

"Come _on_, Lizzy," Lydia said, flicking her hair out of her eyes irritably. "It's my apartment, too."

"Do you _want_ to make this about sides?" Lizzy said. "Because then it's still two against one."

"Two against two," Lydia said stubbornly.

"He doesn't pay rent," Jane reminded her.

Lizzy nodded. "Doesn't count."

"'Salright, love," Wickham said, one arm pressing his young fiancée's shoulders and the other on the banister. Lydia helped him up one more step. "We'll get our own place. A flat, do you think? Just me and you and little Junior."

Lydia froze, one foot resting on the next step. Jane turned to her sister, and Lizzy took a step toward Lydia.

"What is it? You don't want a flat?" Wickham asked, looking at his fiancé. "We might get a house then. A small one, I suppose."

Lydia mumbled something.

"Lydia?" Lizzy said quietly, reaching out to rest a hand on her cousin's shoulder, the one Wickham wasn't occupying.

"Didn't hear that, love," Wickham said, leaning in with a wary glance at Lizzy.

"The baby's gone," Lydia blurted.

There was a pause as the three of them watched Wickham work this out through his intoxication. "Where?" He glanced down at her middle. "You can't have had it already."

Lizzy snorted, wondering how much Tequila had been in that bottle and how much he had left to digest. He was getting more and more drunk as time went on.

Lydia swallowed and tried again. "I lost it."

"Lost it? Well, have you checked all the places you've been?" Wickham asked frowning. "Here, I'll help you look."

"Have you had brain damage since we've seen you last?" Lizzy said impatiently.

"Oh, a miscarriage," Wickham said, brightening at the realization until he noticed the Bennet twins glaring at him and Lydia's lips pressed together so hard they went white. "I suppose that isn't good though, is it?"

"You complete and utter shithead," Lizzy snapped.

"There's no need for name-calling, Lizzy," Wickham said, taking his arm from Lydia's shoulder to scratch his chin. He was overdue for a shave. "I rather need a moment to sort this out."

"How hard can it—" Lizzy started.

"Shut up, Lizzy.—You don't _know_," Lydia hissed, and Lizzy flinched and removed her hand from Lydia's shoulder. Lydia took Wickham's hand. "Take as much time as you need, Jack. I'm here for you."

He patted her hand absentmindedly. "I just need to figure out if the same rules apply." He was having trouble just keeping his eyes open.

"Rules?" Jane asked concerned. Lizzy rolled her eyes; she could practically see Jane preparing herself to treat Wickham for late morning alcohol poisoning.

"Will's rules," Wickham told Jane, as if that explained anything.

"Will?" Lizzy repeated and yelped. "Will _Darcy?_"

"Yes, of course—do you know another Will?" Wickham said, swaying a little to his right.

Lydia caught him and pushed him back a standing position. He smiled down at her in thanks. "Who's Will Darcy?" she asked, looking from her fiancé to her cousins.

Lizzy wasn't sure how to answer her.

"What does Will have to do with this?" Jane asked, red eyebrows raised.

"He gave me"—Wickham spoke slowly, carefully annunciating his words—"a check."

"Why?" Jane asked.

"I don't understand. _Who's Will Darcy?_" Lydia repeated.

Lizzy realized with a sharp, quiet gasp. "To take care of Lydia?" she asked, meeting Lydia's eyes with a frown when her cousin turned around.

"Yesss," Wickham slurred. "And the baby. But there's not a baby, so I'm not quite sure…"

"Wait, let me get this straight," Lizzy said, so sharply that Wickham stood to attention. "Will is paying you—"

"$500,000," Wickham told her, nodding when Lizzy's mouth fell open. She closed it quickly. "Quite a lot, actually."

"To marry Lydia and raise the baby," Lizzy finished.

"Yes, and there was one more thing…" Wickham trailed off, trying to remember. "Oh, right: not to mention that we'd—Oh, bloody hell, I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" he asked Lydia with his most winning smile.

"I don't understand," Lydia said. Lizzy saw the hope in her cousin's face, and the tightness returned to her chest, sharper than ever. But even Lydia wasn't trusting it—she'd taken a step back. One step more and she'd be pressing her back into Lizzy. "Jack, you love me, right? That's why you want to marry me—because you love me. Right?"

"Lydia—" Lizzy started, but Jane shook her head.

"You're a bright girl, Lydia," Wickham said, stroking her arm affectionately. "I mean, a man doesn't just leave a girl if he loves her."

Lizzy wanted to hit him so badly she was shaking, but she didn't move. She had Lydia to tend to, Lydia who was clinging to her and pressing her hot, dry face to Lizzy's shoulder. Instead it was Jane who hit him, hard with a swift bony punch in the eye, red hair streaming behind her. She stood scowling and shaking the sting out of her hand as Wickham sank against the wall, unconscious.

246


	12. Accident

The Second Half of the Musical Interlude

In the middle of the week, the early evening is the worst time to go to the grocery store. That's about the time that most soccer moms finish picking up their kids from extracurriculars and decide they need to find something for dinner. It's around the time when young professionals, caught in rush hour traffic, stop off at a nearby shopping center to get their groceries. It's also when Jane looked in the fridge and realized they ran out of food.

"You know, this would've been a lot easier if you guys would've let me go alone," Jane commented to her sister as they walked across the parking lot.

"No, it wouldn't," said Lydia from Jane's other side. "Because Lizzy and I would've gotten a little stir-crazy back at home, and you would've had to deal with the consequences."

"Look, they're out of shopping carts," Jane said with a sad frown.

"Don't worry; we'll just get a—Oh!" Lizzy gasped, looking in the alley along the side of the store. "Why didn't I bring my camera?"

"Because it's weird to bring a camera grocery shopping," Lydia said stoutly.

"Yeah, but that's such a great shot," Lizzy said, pouting. She nodded at two middle-aged women squaring off over the last shopping cart. "I could have call 'Soccer Mom Showdown.'"

Jane whispered, "_Shhh_, Lizzy. They'll hear you," and Lizzy grinned.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "You two decide if we need to walk back home to get Lizzy's camera. _I'll_ go get a basket."

The Bennet twins blinked after her as their cousin strode in the store, long blonde ponytail swinging. "Is it just me, or is Lydia getting more sarcastic these days?" Lizzy asked.

"She gets that from you," Jane said sighing.

"No…" Lizzy said, looking from the door to her twin. "Really?"

"Well, she certainly didn't get that from me," Jane said with a hesitant smile as they stepped into the building.

"But it's a good thing, right?" Lizzy said, glancing over the long lines at the check-out. "I mean, it's a step up from crying. At least she's stopped that."

Jane shook her head. "I think she's just stopped crying in front of us."

"Well, damn," Lizzy muttered.

"Damn who?" Lydia asked, coming up behind the twins with a green shopping bag handing from her hand.

"Wickham," Lizzy replied cheerfully.

"Oh," replied Lydia blankly, as Jane took the basket from her with a worried frown. "I thought you were damning that Darcy guy again."

Lizzy's eyes narrowed. "Him, too. He's on my list of People who Need Their Ass Kicked. When I see him next, it's on."

"You're going to see him again?" Jane asked surprised.

"Yep," Lizzy said darkly. Then after they started off through the produce section and Lizzy remembered that she didn't have Will's phone number, or email, or screen name, or anything, she added, "I think."

"But who's this Darcy guy?" Lydia asked, arms crossed. When the Bennet twins exchanged glances, she said irritably, "You said you'd tell me later. It's definitely later."

"Yeah, but the best thing about the word 'later' is that it's indefinite," Lizzy said, inspecting a green apple for bruises and humming along to the Dave Matthews Band coming in over the store's stereo system.

"Don't tease her, Lizzy," Jane scolded.

"Do I know him?" Lydia asked. "You can at least tell me that."

Lizzy considered, and Jane replied, "Not as Will Darcy." Lizzy sent her sister a reproachful frown, but Jane shrugged, saying "It's true."

"_How_?" Lydia asked irritably, ripping a plastic bag from a nearby roll and shoving apples into it.

"Not so many," Lizzy told her, nodding at the bag. "We have to carry it all back, remember?" When Lydia stopped and glared at her cousin fiercely, Lizzy sighed dramatically. "I can't _tell_ you, Lydia. I made a promise. But I'll promise _you_ that I'll either tell you soon or make him tell you."

"Fine," Lydia muttered, and Jane asked, "He'll listen to you?"

"He will if I _make_ him," Lizzy told her in a sing-song.

"How does he know Jack, then?" Lydia asked as they walked toward the Dairy fridges. "You can at least tell me that."

Lizzy considered for a moment. "Childhood playmates. But they aren't close. Will didn't approve of Wickham's womanizing habits," she explained. Which was true enough.

"I didn't know that," Jane murmured.

Lizzy shrugged, reached for a half-gallon of milk, and put it in the basket without meeting her sister's eyes. "I kind of learned the hard way."

"So…what exactly?" Lydia asked, looking through the many cartons of vanilla yogurt for one with the latest sell-by date. "This Darcy guy decided to pay Jack to settle down with his latest girlfriend to stop him from sleeping around?"

Lizzy glanced at Jane, whose blue eyes were wide and whose lips were pressed delicately, and knew her sister was thinking the same thing she was: that husbandhood probably wouldn't have hindered Wickham's love life much.

"I doubt it," Jane said finally.

"He knew you were pregnant," Lizzy said apologetically as all three wandered into the Frozen Foods section.

Lydia scowled, and Jane watched Lizzy thoughtfully. "How?" Lydia said.

Lizzy was quiet a moment, remembering. "He was there when I found out," she said simply.

"Do you think that Will thought Wickham had changed?" Jane asked softly.

Lizzy snorted, thinking of Giana. "Absolutely not."

"But he might not have guessed that Jack wouldn't have been the best husband in the world?" Lydia said carefully, mouth set in a grim, sarcastic line as she opened the freezer and pulled out three frozen mushroom pizzas (on special and her favorite).

"Doubtful," Lizzy said with a scowl. "Unless he's suffered some sort of head trauma since I've seen him, _very_ doubtful." She took the pizzas from her cousin so Jane's basket wouldn't get too heavy. "There's a good possibility that he's gone _completely_ insane," she added cheerfully, watching Lydia open the glass door to the ice cream section.

"Probably not," said Jane with a shy smile. "Checking into a mental hospital is something we'd probably see on MTV Newsflash."

"Why MTV?" Lydia asked shrewdly, placing two pints of Mint Cookie ice cream into Jane's basket.

"Why Ben and Jerry's?" Lizzy asked, restraining herself from glaring at her sister and nodding at the ice cream.

"Craving," Lizzy asked, with one hand on her belly and wide, begging eyes.

"But you aren't preg—" Jane started but Lizzy shook her head a little.

"You're pushing it," Lizzy said with a mocking grin, and Lydia smiled hesitantly back. "Okay, _one_ pint. You have to put the other back.—_And_ you're sharing."

Lydia cheered and plucked out one carton before moving back to the freezer.

"Softie," Jane teased lightly.

"Do you want to go through the grocery receipts and count how much ice cream I picked up for _you_?" Lizzy replied with a sharp grin, and Jane laughed until Lydia turned back to the twins, jaw clenched and white faced,

"What?" Jane asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Lydia hurriedly.

"Don't give us that shit," Lizzy said gently. "You look like you're about to cry." Lizzy wondered lightly if it made her a bad person to think how it would make a good picture: her blonde hair escaping its ponytail and clinging to her cheeks, her face impassive, her eyes full of tears. No, she decided, tucking the hair behind her cousin's ear, it just meant that things were starting to ease up around the young Bennet household.

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but her mouth twisted and her lower lip started to shake. Jane moved the basket from her right hand to her left and used her free hand to squeeze Lydia gently around the shoulders. "You thought you saw Wickham, didn't you?"

Lydia nodded, sniffing. "Wasn't him, though."

"Yeah, I kept seeing Charlie everywhere after he left. I thought I was going crazy," Jane told Lydia, as they strolled toward the crowded checkout lines, Lydia's head bobbing awkwardly on Jane's shoulder. "That's why I stayed in the apartment so much; I knew I wouldn't see him there."

"Is it normal to want him to show up again so that _I_ can have chance to punch him out?" Lydia asked Jane as the Dave Matthews Band song ended and was replaced with gentle acoustic power chords.

"Absolutely," Jane said enthusiastically. "You're getting mad. That's making progress—"

Lizzy shook her head and followed them, baffled and smiling. Since Wickham left Lydia for the second time, Jane had opened up about her feelings after Charlie left to keep Lydia from depression. Lizzy decided that this was a good sign, that Jane was finally getting over her trouble with Charlie, and smiled to see Jane and Lydia bond over their broken, abandoned hearts.

To celebrate, Lizzy grabbed some chocolate (enough for three) off the shelf and started humming along to the next tune on the radio, without paying much attention to the song's lyrics.

_You're not something_

_I can lie about._

_I'm not sure if I_

_Should say it out loud._

Jane froze mid-step—so fast that Lydia walked right out of her arm and Jane stood swaying with one foot half off the ground and one arm hanging awkwardly in the air. Lydia looked back at Jane frowning, and Lizzy suddenly recognized the song as the tempo picked up and there was a drum thudding out a beat in the background.

_But if you'll just take a seat—_

_Will you listen to my heart beat?—_

_And I'll tell you the story_

_Of what I feel. For you._

Jane made a noise in the back of her throat, a noise halfway between a growl and a snort, and she turned back to her sister, her red hair swinging behind her. "I have to get out of here," she told Lizzy, handing over the basket.

"Are you all right?" Lydia asked.

Jane shook her head dismissively, her scowl so fierce that her eyes were just bright blue slits. "I have a date," she explained in a cool, vacant voice. "I have to get ready."

"But it's _tomorrow_," Lizzy reminded her, but Jane shook her head again and marched toward the automatic glass doors, long red hair swinging across her back.

_CHORUS:_

_It was an accident._

_Don't get mad._

_Don't get scared._

_I didn't mean to feel this way_

_About you._

Once Jane was safely outside, Lydia turned back to Lizzy, eyebrows raised. "Okay…?"

Lizzy sighed and walked forward a little to catch up to her cousin, shoving the chocolate and the pizza in the basket. "This is the song that Charlie wrote for Jane," she explained.

"Oh," Lydia said, face blank and listening as they walked to stand in the nearest checkout line.

_This is a feeling_

_That I can't control._

_But if it helps,_

_I've never felt this way before._

_You're like a dream_

_I have in parts._

_You walk in, and suddenly_

_My life just starts._

_CHORUS:_

_It was an accident._

_Don't get mad._

_Don't get scared._

_I didn't mean to feel this way_

_About you._

"Aww, but it's so sweet," Lydia said, turning to Lizzy with a pouting smile.

Lizzy set the basket down on the floor, while they waited. "Not to Jane. She was under the impression that this was _their_ song, not to be shared with anyone else."

"Oh," Lydia said quietly. Lizzy smiled and guessed that her cousin wouldn't be so polite if she wasn't try to get information.

_I hope you don't mind._

_It shouldn't be a problem._

_We've both been through worse._

_It'll be fine if you just hear me out—_

"Lizzy," said Lydia, so quietly that Lizzy turned to her sharply, wary of the next question, "Why do you think that Will Darcy paid Jack to marry me?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Lizzy watched Lydia's carefully composed face. "If I had to make a guess," Lizzy said reluctantly, "I'd say Will's very old-fashioned. He probably thought that a bad husband is better than no husband."

"Oh," Lydia said, thoughtfully.

_I'll walk away_

_If you ask me to,_

_But baby, first you've_

_Gotta ask me to go._

_Away. From you._

"I don't think I really loved Jack," Lydia said conversationally, in the middle of Charlie's guitar solo, as if Lizzy had asked. One of the people in front of them finished paying up, and the line moved. Lizzy pushed the basket forward with her foot and watched her cousin. Lydia fingered the packets of gum at the side of the register. "I mean, I think I loved the idea of Jack more than Jack himself? Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Lizzy replied.

Lydia let out a half-hearted laugh. "I don't even know how I could've liked him in the first place. I mean, in retrospect he was always…" she trailed off and slowly lifted her eyes to meet Lizzy's.

"Well," Lizzy replied, "love is blind, right?"

"No," Lydia corrected with a bitter scowl, "love is _pissed off_." But when Lizzy laughed, Lydia grinned too.

_I know I've messed up_

_I know we can't be friends,_

_But maybe we'll be more_

_If you'll just give me another chance._

_CHORUS:_

_It was an accident._

_Don't get mad._

_Don't get scared._

_I didn't mean to feel this way_

_About you. About you._

"Lizzy, are you in love with Will Darcy?" Lydia asked, very quietly, her eyes on the ground.

Lizzy raised one eyebrow at her cousin, half-smiling at her cousin's curiosity. She knew she didn't have to answer if she didn't want to; Lydia most likely didn't _expect_ an answer. But if she didn't, Lydia would just guess anyway.

"Probably." It was the first time Lizzy had admitted it out loud. "But I'm seriously reconsidering now that I know how crazy he is." When Lydia turned to her expectantly, she continued, "The worst part is that he's probably well-intentioned. It makes it so much harder to yell at him with a clear conscience." At her cousin's surprise, she grinned and added, "Doesn't mean I won't, though."

"Does Jane know?" Lydia asked.

"She probably suspects." Lizzy shrugged. "But she's preoccupied with her own stuff right now."

_I'm ready to try again._

_I know I've got no right to ask, but_

_It's getting harder to pretend._

_We're both need to be past this,_

_But after everything,_

_You are the only one I miss._

The tempo slowed again, and Fitz's drumbeat faded away as Lizzy and Lydia exchanged glances. There was a final chord, and then Charlie's voice came back _a cappella_.

_It was an accident._

_I know you're mad._

_I know you're scared._

_But all I want is to feel this way_

_About…you…_

"I think Charlie's added to the song since Jane heard it last," Lizzy said with a wide grin, as the last note faded out and an afternoon talk show began.

"_I_ think," Lydia said grinning back, "that Bing wants to get back together with Jane. That's what I think."

"I think we're going to have to convince Jane to listen to the song all the way through," Lizzy decided. The next person in line checked out, and they finally got close enough for Lizzy to put the basket on the conveyer belt.

"Lizzy…" Lydia said slowly, eyes wide, looking over her cousin's shoulder.

"Here, we'll practice: '_I know you're mad; I know you're scared,_'" Lizzy sang. grinning, "_But he can't help but feel this_—"

"Oh, my God, _Lizzy_," Lydia interrupted, pointing at the magazine rack behind Lizzy's head.

There, on the front page of _The Globe,_ was a headline printed in yellow: "B.F.D.'s MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND." Next to it, smaller on the right, was a photograph Lizzy vaguely remembered taking sneakily at Netherfield: Charlie grinning and holding the door for a pretty redhead, who was smiling up at him from under the circle of his arm.

It was Jane.


	13. Meeting the Media

1.

When a woman decides to re-invent her life, she usually starts with her hair. That's how Jane came to donate her long, red hair to Locks of Love in favor of a short bob, one that helped her cheekbones stand out a little sharper and her eyes a brighter blue. She also put away her ragged jeans and loose comfy t-shirts in favor of flaring skirts and low heels. She even started going out again, despite the fact that her first date ended up a disaster, but as Lizzy pointed out, it was only a disaster because the paparazzi finally caught up with her.

"I still say she deserves it," Lydia said bitterly, flipping through channels (the first thing Lydia did when she got control of her trust fund was to pay for cable, complete with HBO). "For trying to date my _doctor._"

Lizzy looked up from her computer screen, where the forty-second page of her thesis was resisting her best editing efforts. "She can't help that he's the first guy to ask her out when she decided she wanted to."

"Yeah," Lydia said, pausing to watch a few seconds of Jerry Springer (_"She's sleeping with my mother!"_) before moving on, "but she _can_ help that she accepted."

"Well, it does kind of suck that he left her stranded at the restaurant halfway across town, in the midst of a whole bunch of story-hungry reporters," Lizzy pointed out.

Lydia lifted her head up and grinned at Lizzy from over the top of the couch. "I bet _Charlie_ wouldn't have left her to the reporters," she said slyly.

Lizzy was about to mention that Charlie _did_ leave her, when they both heard the apartment door open, then slam, followed by a loud, frustrated scream.

After a stunned second, Lizzy turned and called, "_Jane?_ You all right?"

"_No_," Jane snapped, storming into the room, short red hair elegantly tousled, cheeks rosy with fury. "You know where they were today?"

Lydia grinned at Lizzy, who shook her head and tried very hard not to smile. These days, "they" meant reporters.

"Couldn't say," Lydia replied politely.

"The _stairwell_," Jane said exasperated. "And you know, how long it took me to get up the stairs?" And this time she didn't wait for her roommates to respond. "_Fifteen minutes_. For two flights."

Lydia rolled her eyes and turned back to channel surfing, and Lizzy said, face carefully blank, "Almost makes you wish our apartment had an elevator."

"It's _not_ _funny_," Jane snapped, putting her bag down at the table.

"Not to you. Not yet," Lizzy replied grinning. "But me and Lydia find it _very_ amusing."

Jane scowled at her darkly and opened the freezer roughly to pull out the last of the Mint Cookie ice cream.

"Lighten up, Jane," Lizzy said, watching her sister open the silverware drawer and slam it shut roughly. "Or I'll call Dad and tell him to dump you in the shower again."

"_Lizzy_," Jane said, but Lizzy noticed a flicker of a smile in her twin's eyes.

"How was class?" Lizzy asked.

"Fine," Jane said glumly, stabbing her spoon into the pint carton and pulling out a big, green chunk. Then, looking at it with a slow smile: "Professor Morgan told me that I'll make a great doctor someday."

Lizzy mock-applauded with a broad grin. "Congratulations. She's supposed to be really tough, right?"

Jane swallowed her mouthful of ice cream with a wide smile, shrugging. "She's always been nice to me." Jane watched Lydia flip past a couple music videos without much interest. "Lizzy," she said so suddenly that her sister looked up from her thesis, "I think I want to be a real doctor."

"I agree," Lizzy said, looking back to her laptop with a half-grin. "We've played make-believe long enough. You should actually go to medical school or something."

"No, I mean—" Jane stopped and took a deep breath, even putting her spoon down. "I want to be a practitioner, not a research doctor."

"Oh-ho," Lizzy said, looking up from her computer, eyebrows raised high.

"I like kids," Jane explained worriedly, "and I want to help people. If I go into research right away, I'll just be working under someone else, and I might never get my own funding to study asthma—"

"Jane," Lizzy said, with a bemused smile, "you don't need my permission."

"I'm not giving up on finding a cure," Jane wanted her twin to know, "but I want to set up my own practice. Specializing in children's asthma. That way, I'll be able to treat people and learn more as I go."

"Sounds good to me," Lizzy replied, mostly because she knew that was what her sister wanted to hear, and Jane smiled again. "Jane, do what you want. Do what makes you happy."

"I want to help people," Jane replied, and Lizzy smiled and took her sister's hand.

"This is," Lydia said with a wide grin, "a touching moment."

"Yeah," Lizzy replied with a mock-glare, "go find your own."

"Touché," Lydia said. "I just wanted to know if I have to change the channel or not. B.F.D. is doing an interview."

Both Bennet twins turned to the T.V. at the same time. On screen was a talk show host that Lizzy didn't recognize—in a orange suit, black suit, and very blonde hair—sitting on a stage across from Charlie, who was smiling and scratching the back of his neck, looking faintly uncomfortable. Lizzy glanced at her sister, who was leaning against the table, arms crossed and frowning, but she was watching the screen intently.

"Eat your ice cream, Jane," Lizzy suggested. "It'll make you feel better."

Jane groped for the spoon, not moving her gaze from the TV.

When Lizzy looked back, the camera had panned out to include Dar and Fitz. Behind the chairs, a plasma TV flashed up a glamour shot of the hostess herself. Will was glowering at his cousin, who was doing a really good job of pretending not to notice. Seeing Will's grumpiness, Lizzy felt herself smile and had to remind herself sternly that she was mad at him. If she could just figure out how to contact him, she'd sit him down (preferably alone) and make him explain himself.

"Nah, it really wasn't all that bad," Fitz said, slouching in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach with a lazy grin. "I didn't finish it, so I'm really not the best judge. But Will here did. What'd _you_ think, Will?" he asked, turning to his cousin with eyebrows raised politely.

Will wasted another half minute of airtime glaring at Fitz before replying finally in a half growl, "I don't think I remember well enough to say." It surprised Lizzy how much his American accent annoyed her.

"What are they talking about?" Jane muttered, stabbing at her ice cream again, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"So—" The camera moved back to the hostess, smiling and re-crossing her long, tan legs primly. "It's safe to say that _Cindy, Cindy_ won't be hitting theaters soon?"

"A screenplay," Lizzy explained, remembering the day at the Rosings pool, "based on Fitz and his wife."

Next the frame moved to show Will again, eyes dark and scowling. And very attractive, Lizzy noticed. "Not in its current draft, no," he said curtly.

"What do you think, Bing?" asked the hostess, putting her manicured hand on his arm.

"Don't _flirt_ with him, you nosy tramp," Lydia snapped, and Jane grinned at her gratefully.

Charlie shrugged, lifting both hands in the air, palms up so the hostess's arm dropped away. "Never really got around to reading it," he explained, with an apologetic smile.

He looked tired, Lizzy decided. And strained. Like it was hard for him to smile. She hoped Jane noticed.

"There's nothing really wrong with it," Fitz said. "It's just we've kind of seen it before. I mean, there's only so many times you can see this story of rock talent bogged down with sex, drugs, and cash and getting rescued by the faithful chick. Besides, a really good one just came out.—What was it, Will? The one in the South?"

"_Ray_," Will replied sternly.

"No, that was a good one, too," Fitz said, "but this one was more recent. With that country guy."

"Cash. Johnny Cash," Will replied impatiently. "_Walk the Line_."

"Oh, I saw that," Lydia said. "Yeah, I liked it. But I dunno—the accents kind of got on my nerves."

"That's it!" Fitz said triumphantly. "That one came the closest I've ever seen to what a musician's life is really like. But you know it still didn't really tackle the song-writing part of it. I've not seen that."

"The film showed Cash writing songs several times," the hostess said, before smiling demurely at Will's harsh stare, "if I remember correctly."

Lizzy glanced at Charlie, who sat right in the middle of the screen, ignored now by the hostess. He had an elbow on his armchair, his chin in his hand, frowning sadly, which wasn't like him. Glancing at Jane's steady stare, Lizzy hoped that he'd wise up soon and come visit or something.

"Yeah, but they make it out like all he had to do was pick out a few chords and write a few words down," Fitz said, folding his hands behind his head. "I know every artist's different, but it's tougher than _that_. Usually, you have a whole bunch of drafts and you're practicing until your fingers blisters and—"

"I know you're not speaking from experience," Will said with a bemused frown. "Usually you just fiddle about until you find a rhythm you like."

Fitz glanced sidelong at his cousin, one eyebrow raised high, his red crest almost bristling. Then, he grinned. "Yeah, maybe I'm not the best example. But Will here works _real_ hard. Locked himself in his room for a week trying to pull the 'You Told Me' song together. He—"

"That's _enough_, Fitz," Will snapped, but Fitz's grin just grew wider.

"Aww, Will.—Don't _blush_. You don't need to be embarrassed. I'm sure _all_ your fans think it's sweet…" he said, reaching over with a long arm to pinch Will's cheek.

Lizzy did _not_ think it was sweet. Okay, maybe a little sweet. But that was more perfectionist than anything else.

Will jerked away from Fitz's hand, flushed and scowling, and probably would've punched him if they hadn't been on camera. Lizzy laughed, blushing; she ducked her head and peeked over the laptop screen, hoping her sister and cousin wouldn't notice.

"And you, Bing?" the hostess asked.

Jane's eyes narrowed again, but Charlie didn't answer, looking down at the lime-green carpet.

The hostess blinked a few times, and Fitz and Will exchanged glances. Lizzy saw Will mutter something, too low for the studio's microphones to pick up, and then Charlie straightened up, glancing around wildly. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today," Charlie said, flashing a quick apologetic grin. "What was the question?"

The hostess smiled, flashing very, very white teeth.

"Uh-oh," Lydia said. "She has 'bitch' written all over her right now."

"Will doesn't like it either," Lizzy pointed out, as the screen showed a close-up of Will's worried glare.

"_Will_?" Lydia said, looking at Lizzy sharply.

"Dar," Jane explained absently, watching Charlie.

The hostess was still smiling. "How long did it take you to write 'Accidents'?"

"Um…" said Charlie, scratching the back of his neck. Jane shifted on her feet impatiently, the ice cream spoon in her mouth. "It was a work-in-progress for several months actually. Almost a year."

Lizzy glanced at her sister, watched her take a deep, steadying breath.

"And is it written for anyone we know?" the hostess asked with another predatory smile.

"Somebody _I_ know," Lydia said, glaring at the screen. "So, don't even _try—"_

Jane patted Lydia on the head with a small smile. "She can't hear you, sweetie, but thanks."

"Maybe the girl in those pictures?" the hostess continued. "The redhead?"

The camera showed another close-up of Charlie this time, gaze frozen, half-smiling uncertainly.

The frame panned out to include his bandmates, both exchanging worried glances again. "Come on, Wendy," Fitz said, good-naturedly. "How are we supposed to keep our aloof air of mystery, if you keep asking us all these questions? You've ruining all our hard work."

The camera returned to the hostess (Wendy apparently), who was smiling as if to point out, _It's my job_. As if the message wasn't clear enough, the screen swept over the studio audience, mostly women, all rapt with attention.

"We've got a few of those pictures here at the studio," said Wendy the hostess. "Why don't we see if we can't take a look at those?"

A television behind the semi-circle of chairs flashed up that picture of Jane and Charlie in a doorway, the one that Lizzy and Lydia had seen on the front page of _The Globe_. Jane herself gave a muffled cry; her hands were over her mouth. Charlie flinched as if he'd heard her. Fitz and the hostess turned to look, and Charlie glanced half-heartedly over his shoulder. Will was too busy glaring at the hostess to care. Another photograph popped up on the screen: of Jane and Charlie again, in front of the Netherfield fireplace. Jane is looking into the fire, eyes cast down thoughtfully, and Charlie is watching Jane, a log in his lap.

"I took that one, too," Lizzy grumbled. "Where are they _getting_ these?"

"Jane," Lydia said softly, half-getting up from the sofa, and when Lizzy looked, her sister's eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'm all right," Jane replied quietly, still watching.

"Looks cozy," Wendy commented, scraping her hair away from her face with a triumphant smile.

"Will, you better _do_ something," Lizzy muttered.

When the camera came back to him, Will was watching Charlie with a concerned frown. He opened his mouth to say something, but Wendy was quicker. "And what do you think of these pictures coming up?"

The screen changed to a still at a restaurant that Lizzy recognized, the one across town, where she and Jane had celebrated their last birthday with Charlotte. Jane was in a short, black dress, head bent over a menu, her red hair twisted back and up (this was obviously before her haircut). Across from her was Lydia's doctor, sipping from a wine glass and looking straight into the camera.

"I didn't take that one," Lizzy said, mostly to herself.

"He cleans up nicely," Lydia said dryly. "Dr. Harris, I mean."

Jane still had her hands pressed to her mouth and didn't answer.

The next frame was a close-up again—of Charlie, face pale and unhappy, and the hostess watching him unexpectedly. "Jane can do whatever…" he started but his voice cracked. He tried again. "I don't have any right…" he drifted off, looking at the picture.

"_Will—_" Lizzy started again.

"So, her name's Jane?" said Wendy with interest, and Lydia spat, "you _bitch!_" at the screen of the hostess's face beaming at Charlie.

Then, there was Will's voice off camera, saying "I have an announcement to make" in a distinctly British way.

Lizzy's mouth fell open, aa the frame panned out to include the rest of the B.F.D., Fitz with his hands over his face, peeking at his cousin between his fingers, and Will looking straight into the camera.

"My name isn't Will Darlington," he continued in his familiar accent.

The audience gasped off camera, and the frame belatedly swept over them again, showing them at the edge of their seats, open mouths.

"_What_?" cried Wendy over the audience's murmurs.

"Darlington was my mother's maiden name," Will said clearly in the direction of the camera. Charlie was wide-eyed again, and Fitz took his hands off his face and clasped his hands over his flat belly, smiling at the audience with resignation. "My name is actually Will Darcy."

The studio audience gasped again. Charlie let out a short, nervous laugh. Wendy looked like her Christmas had come early. And Fitz leaned toward his cousin and informed him grinning, "Mags is gonna kill you."

That was all Lizzy saw, because Lydia stood up, blocking the screen, shock blazing in her face. "Will _Darcy_?" she asked Lizzy, and Jane looked from Lizzy to Lydia to the screen with wide, concerned eyes. "_Dar_ is Will _Darcy_?"

Lizzy shrugged, smiling back, sure suddenly of exactly two things: _one,_ she was no longer reconsidering being in love with Will Darcy, and _two,_ there was no reason to wait around for Will to visit. There was nothing stopping her from tracking him down herself.

2.

Early in her modeling career, Lizzy learned something crucial about Manhattan: Only five percent of success is earned by talent. You get another thirty-five percent from the people you know and the people who know _you_. The rest comes from how you handle yourself. So, Lizzy strode into the tower that housed the Keefe-Moore agency at a brisk pace, checking her watch absent-mindedly, and adjusting the strap of her camera bag over her best grey suit.

Stopping at the security desk, Lizzy carefully slung her bag off her shoulder and on top of her briefcase and made sure that the brown envelope she had addressed to Will was tucked safely away, before placing both on the conveyer belt toward the security x-ray. "God, I'm late," she told the guard, hurriedly signing in as Beth Bennette, in case he noticed her name on her ID tag, pinned to her coat and three years out of date. The young guard smiled at Lizzy, but Lizzy was almost sure that his sympathy had less to do with the time and more to do with the dark red lipstick she'd so carefully applied. "Can you tell me where the B.F.D. press conference is?" she asked, as soon as she walked through the metal detector.

"Sixteenth floor," the guard said. "Conference room D. And you're not that late."

"Thanks," Lizzy said with a grateful smile as she collected her briefcase and camera bag before heading off to the elevators. She repressed her triumphant grin until she'd rounded the corner and pressed the _up_ button. It was going to take a while, Lizzy guessed: the nearest elevator was on the thirty-second floor, and the other three elevators were stopped to accommodate a photo shoot. At least, she was pretty sure it was a photo shoot. The lights were set up on the middle elevator—its door wide open—and a camera waited on a tripod. Lizzy didn't see a photographer, only two models, but it seemed like the kind of thing Diana Gardiner could pull off, strong-arming her superintendent into allowing her to rent out three of the building's elevators for most of the day.

It was really lucky that Maggie Fitzwilliam had managed to book a conference room in this building for Will Darcy's belated _Yes, I'm British_ press release. The Keefe-Moore Agency didn't often lend out their rooms, and Lizzy was pretty sure that Will had needed to talk to Aunt Diana and remind her that she'd borrowed a bed of his at Pemberley. It was especially lucky for Lizzy, because this was the building she knew best in New York. If she _did_ get in trouble with security, she could have them place a call to Diana to bail her out.

But Lizzy wasn't planning on having any trouble.

The elevator was definitely _slow_. Still stuck all the way up on the twenty-seventh floor. Lizzy amused herself by watching the two models in the photo shoot's well-lit elevator. Without their photographer, the models were trying to amuse themselves as best they could in an empty elevator.

It was apparently harder than it looked, because the female model—a very leggy brunette in a light green flaring dress that fell to her ankles—seemed to be practicing ballet, one hand on the railing, one leg raised behind her and raising her skirt with it. The male model—dressed in a suit, leaning against the back wall of the elevator, arms folded—was giving her a look that definitely challenged the _male models are gay_ stereotype. Lizzy glanced around, edged a step toward the camera, and pressed the shutter release. _Click_. The female model noticed her co-worker's attention and looked back slightly, leg still raised and eyebrow arched. _Click_. The male model reached out and flicked his co-worker's skirt so it scooted down her leg and exposed a pretty calf, gleaming with a late summer tan. _Click_.

"_What_ exactly," said a cold accented voice behind her, "do you _think_ you are _doing_?"

Lizzy turned around slowly, sure that she was a minute away from seeing security again and composing that phone call to Aunt Diana, but she recognized the small, stout man's gleaming head and thick mustache and immediately relaxed.

"Marco!" she said delighted.

(Marco Vignilini was the first photographer to show her how to use a camera. Her exact words were something like, "Very good, very nice shot, darling. Next time, you will need to take the cap off the lens.")

"If it isn't my little Beth!" he cried. "Beth Bennette! What are you doing here, in my city? And you did not call me—you are in _such_ trouble." He reached up and pinched her cheek; he barely reached her shoulder. "There is nothing for it now; you must kiss me. Here. On my cheek."

He was _also_ the only photographer that had successfully managed to boss Beth Bennette around.

"It has been too long," he continued after she complied meekly. "What has it been? Two years?"

"Mmm, almost three," Lizzy said, reshouldering her camera bag and glancing at her elevator (twelfth floor, the display said). "Since that _In Style_ spread, wasn't it?"

"You see?" he said. "_Too long_. We cannot remember, and so much too long. And are you only going to try to steal my camera, or will you also take me to lunch?" Lizzy glanced at the remaining elevator again more pointedly (still twelfth floor). "Not _now_, of course. We are busy _now_. About one?"

"I—" Lizzy started, glancing at her watch. It was a quarter past eleven.

"You cannot say no to me, darling. I will not let you; you are too cute," he explained, taking a shot of the models in the elevator. They snapped to attention, the female model slinging an arm around her co-worker's neck, faux-passionately. "Now run along and go see your aunt. I will meet you here at one."

Lizzy's elevator had reached the fourth floor. "Tell him to lower his hand a bit," Lizzy advised, and when Marco pursed his lips in her direction and his crew (lighting, assistants, and models included) gaped at her, she continued, "It looks awkward cupping her neck like that." Marco nodded slightly, and the male model's hand moved to the small of his co-worker's back. "And I'm not going to see my aunt." When Marco turned to her in surprise, Lizzy added, "I mean I will eventually, but not right now."

"Then, why would you be here? There is nothing here today, except…_Oh_," he said with a knowing smile. "B.F.D. fan, are you?"

Lizzy smirked. "Kind of. Not quite."

Marco pursed his lips again, raising his eyebrows high. "I see, I see. The redhead, she is your sister? It is all becoming clear." Lizzy opened her mouth to say something else, but Marco raised his hand in the arm and snapped his fingers. "Fran_cine_!" A harried-looking assistant with a clipboard and strong perfume ducked forward. "The press pass, please, for this _very_ beautiful young lady. From the band." Watching the assistant dig through a folder, Lizzy was about to protest (it did take all the adventure out of sneaking into Will's press conference), but Marco explained to Lizzy, "They just hand these away like free lotion samples at the hotel. Whether you want them or _no_." Once the assistant placed a slim plastic-coated paper in his palm, Marco said, "Now, I'm giving this to you _with_ the stipulation that you won't do anything to return yourself to the tabloids."

Lizzy's elevator announced its arrival with a chime. "That was only _one_ time," Lizzy protested, moving toward it. "And those supermodels didn't need to follow me into that fountain—"

Marco waved her off, turning his attention back to the camera. "Don't mention it, darling. I expect details!" he told her, and the elevator doors slid shut on Lizzy's protests.

3.

She was late, and Will was annoyed, drumming his fingers against the conference table to prove it. She was _always_ late, though. She'd been late nearly every day of their lives, so it really shouldn't bother him anymore. But since she'd been so keen to come, since she'd spent most of the evening before arguing that Will let her attend, since she had even gotten Fitz to help her, she might as well show up _on time_. He tried to force himself to calm down. He reminded himself firmly that he should not be this angry. He was only frustrated, he reasoned, because he'd saved this day in his schedule so that he could go to Vickroot to check on Lizzy and was stuck instead in the city sorting out the mess that he'd gotten his band into.

It would help though, he decided, if he could _start_.

"Maybe I should call," Will suggested, as Fitz turned around for the eighth time to check on Zarine, who was still sleeping peacefully in her baby carrier, out of (the press's) sight in the back of the room.

"She's probably on her way," Charlie told Will, sighing when Will turned his attention his way. "You'll only slow her down."

"Perhaps, she's gotten into an accidents," Will suggested. "Perhaps, she's not coming. Perhaps—"

(Lizzy made her way through Conference Room D, crowded with plastic chairs and cameras, and quietly took a place against the wall between _Rolling Stone_ Magazine and _London Times_. They were all there: Will, of course; Charlie, glumly listening to what looked like Will's whispered tirade; Fitz, drumming on the side of the table with two brand-new pencils; even a small, dark-haired woman in a hot pink suit, who—Lizzy guessed from the amused smile Fitz was giving her and the harsh glares she directed at Will—was probably Maggie, the manager.)

"Take a deep breath, Will," Fitz told his cousin over the unoccupied chair between them and grinned when Will shot him a dark glare. "I promise it'll help."

(There was an empty seat between Will and Fitz, probably saved for their Aunt Catty. If Lizzy guessed right, Mrs. de Bourgh wouldn't miss a chance to lord over the band and the press if she could help it.)

"Don't underestimate the gravity of the situation," Will snapped.

"Aww, you're worried; that's cute," Fitz told him, reaching over to ruffle his cousin's hair. "Relax, Will. She's a big girl. She'll be fine."

(Lizzy couldn't take her eyes off Will, who looked flushed and irritated and very, very handsome in his dark suit and light blue shirt, as he tried to fix the damage Fitz did to his hair. She was sure that he'd look up any minute at her unrelenting gaze—But there were a lot of gazes in the room, she reminded herself. She was probably safe among them. His eyes were glittering as he glanced around the room. Lizzy's breath caught in her throat as he looked toward her wall, but—)

Maggie tucked her dark hair behind her ears and leaned to her microphone to announce, "All right, we're going to get started. Now, Will Darcy, _alias_ Darlington, would like—"

The door next to Zarine's carrier banged open, almost directly behind Charlie, who nearly fell off his seat—there were a few titters from the audience, and Will glared out at them, half-blinded by the camera flashes. Giana rushed in, her long, dark hair streaming behind her, eyes wide and flustered.

(Lizzy was surprised to see her—well, more surprised that Will would let her come, but she noticed with approval that Giana was wearing the red silk camisole and fitted black sweater that they'd found at Harold's. And the choker with quartz beads, she realized, as Giana pulled out the chair between her brother and her cousin, muttering apologies.)

"And where the bloody hell have you been?" Will hissed, careful to keep his voice too low for the microphone in front of him to pick up.

"Well, I had class. What would you have me _do_?" Giana asked scowling. "_Skip_?"

"Yes!" Will replied, so loudly that the sound system protested with a screech.

(Lizzy smirked, watching Will and Giana wince and Fitz try to hide a grin. If Lizzy had been a little closer, she would've taken a picture of the space between Will's mouth and that small slice of chest the slightly unbuttoned shirt revealed, his Adam's apple exposed, his mouth vulnerable. She probably wouldn't have named it, but she might have kept it in her wallet.)

Giana rolled her eyes and hooked her long, pianist's fingers around the short microphone in front of Will.

(Of course—Lizzy decided, snapping a shot of Will's shocked face, realizing a second too late what his little sister was planning--she'd have to have to actually be dating Will at that point. Otherwise, that photo could demote her to stalker status.)

"Before we do anything else," Giana said, leaning into the microphone, meeting the flash of camera bulbs with a frank stare, " he did it for me. The whole Darlington deception, it was to protect me."

Will resisted the urge to glare out past the glare of the camera bulbs into the audience, as someone in the front row, pad and pencil no doubt readied, asked, "And who are you?"

"Georgiana Darcy. _His_ younger sister," Giana replied curtly, batting Will's hands away as he tried to reach over and take the microphone away from her. "He didn't want you sorry lot following me around." Will winced, as a few chuckles filled the room. "But I imagine you will now. Nice to meet you, I suppose."

(She _could_ just sling her camera over her shoulder, walk straight through the crowd, climb over the table, and kiss Will right now, in front of all these people. That would _really_ make headlines.)

Will thought he heard a couple journalists murmur "Nice to meet you" in response, but he leaned closer to Giana, hissing, "Are you bloody _mad_?"

"I know what I'm doing," she told him in a whisper, as someone else asked, "Why the change?"

(Maybe not, Lizzy decided, snapping a shot of the Darcy siblings, glaring at each other with identical scowls. Maybe press conference declarations were too _Notting Hill_ for real life. Besides, she didn't really feel like doing anything that had been done before; Fitz would never let her life it down.)

Will reached for the microphone again, but Giana had already leaned forward, shrugging. "There really wasn't any reason, now that I'm in New York," Giana explained.

Will was going to say something else, but Charlie's hand was on his arm. "Leave her alone," Charlie said quietly, close enough so that the microphones didn't pick it up. "Can't you see what she's doing?"

"_Yes_, she's exposing our private life to the press," Will snapped as Fitz got up to go tend to the fussing baby. Giana's violent entrance must have woken her up. "She's much too naïve."

Giana had paused to give her brother a sly, sidelong glance and continued, "To tell you the _whole_ truth, a photographer caught me and Will having lunch together."

"She's being herself." Charlie shrugged. "She's making sure they all know that you two are really siblings."

"Of _course_, we're bloody siblings—" Will hissed as Giana announced, "And B.F.D. has _quite_ enough misunderstood romances in the tabloids without adding me to the mix."

(Eyebrows raised, Lizzy glanced to the right just in time to see Charlie wince, but Maggie Fitzwilliam only tapped her pencil against a yellow legal pad, watching Giana thoughtfully.)

"You didn't read the memo?" Charlie asked Will.

"What memo?" Will asked distractedly, watching his sister.

"Also," Giana added with a wide, wry grin that her brother automatically mistrusted, "I'd rather not be mistaken for Will's girlfriend. Ever. That's _disgusting_," she said with a look of such horror that most of the press laughed.

(Lizzy laughed too, quietly, unwilling to give herself away, but Will only narrowed his eyes at his sister and paid no attention to her audience.)

"You know, I'm going to tell Mags to just stop sending out the damn things," Fitz commented to Will and Charlie, fishing a pacifier out of his jacket pocket and giving it to Zarine. "None of us have time to check our email anymore. Except for Charlie and Giana apparently."

"Why are you in New York?" another reporter asked Giana.

"MTV thinks this is a publicity gag," Charlie explained quietly.

"Well, it bloody well isn't," Will growled.

"I make up three percent of the international portion of NYU's freshman class," Giana announced to the press proudly. "Approximately."

"That's not stopping Giana from trying to single-handedly save your career," Charlie pointed out.

(Lizzy snorted, snapping another picture of Giana's beaming face and wondering how Will was adjusting to having his sister so close by. Not terribly well, Lizzy thought, glancing over Will's panicked scowl.)

"That reminds me," Fitz said to Giana, as he settled back into his seat. "Did you get your graduation present?"

Will sighed, running his hands through his hair, and Charlie sent him a sympathetic smile as Giana leaned toward her cousin and said in a loud whisper, "Yeah, but it doesn't quite fit in my room. I rather doubt big screen televisions were designed for freshman dorms."

"Damn," Fitz grumbled before turning to his wife. "Flat screen, maybe?"

"Not _now_, Fitz," Mags said with such long-suffering patience that the press laughed again.

(Lizzy laughed with the rest, louder this time, but Will was too busy eyeing Giana's microphone distrustfully to notice her.)

"Where are you from?" asked another reporter, a man somewhere near the back.

(Snapping a picture of Fitz's sheepish grin and Maggie's answering smile, Lizzy had a terrible, nauseating thought: Maybe Will didn't _want_ to see her again.)

"England," Giana said, and Will was almost smiling at her sarcasm until she went on, "Derbyshire. The town's quite small, actually—"

(No, no, she was being ridiculous. Will loved her. She knew he loved her. He wrote a song for her, for fuck's sake.)

Will snatched up the microphone, saying sternly, half to her and half to the press, "You don't need to tell them that."

(But he hadn't come to visit her. Or even called her. It wasn't like he didn't know where she lived. It wasn't as if he couldn't look up _her_ phone number.)

"And why not?" Giana asked her brother. "They'll only get it from the internet if it's not from me."

(What if he wasn't so fond of her after that sob story on her Derbyshire hotel bed? What if she freaked him out? Hell, she freaked _herself_ out. What if he didn't like her anymore?)

Will leaned forward, trying to ignore the reporters in the front row straining to hear him, and hissed, "They wouldn't _know_ to look on the bloody internet if not for you."

(She was _obsessing_. God, she _hated_ girls who obsessed. Especially over guys.)

"Don't be daft, Will," Giana said hotly, and Will wasn't sure he liked the effect this university was having on his sister. She learned something new already: resistance to authority.

(Besides, if Will stopped loving her just because he saw her _cry_, then Lizzy didn't want him anyway.)

Fitz snorted, delighted with his little cousin's newly developed attitude.

(Okay_—_Lizzy decided, trying not to smile and snapping a picture as Will sent Fitz a sharp warning glare—that was a lie.)

Fitz laced his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs as Giana continued, "You know you're being daft, so stop it. If Lizzy were here, she'd—"

(Lizzy flinched, looking sharply from Giana to Will, who had hurriedly grabbed the head of the microphone. It squeaked so loudly that several journalists covered their ears, pens and notepads in either hand. But it did manage to muffle the Darcys' argument.)

"_Will,_ I'm a grown person; I can do whatever I bloody well—" Giana complained.

Will hushed her, but someone already was already asking, "Who's Lizzy?"

(She really didn't have time for this, Lizzy noticed as she checked her watch.)

Will uncovered the microphone, opening his mouth to answer, but Maggie was already handling it. "Nice try," she said smiling. "Next question."

(She was supposed to meet Marco in seventeen minutes.)

A young man—Will couldn't see him through the glare of the camera flashes, but the accent was from London—was next. "Where were they born?"

Giana snatched the microphone from Will again, so quickly that the hand that was holding it got caught in her grip as she jerked it toward her. Will yanked it to safety and shook it out.

(She could, Lizzy supposed, stealing a picture of Will's sharp, scowling face, rigid with disapproval and worry, blow Marco off. After all, she'd never _actually_ agreed to have lunch with him.)

Baby Zarine had spat out her pacifier and had begun making suspiciously unhappy noises in her carrier. Will noticed Maggie and Fitz exchanging worried glances.

"At home," Giana said decisively.

(But Marco really was a good friend; he'd helped her to get started. Lizzy snapped a shot as both Fitz and Will turned to Giana, each with a bewildered eyebrow raised. Besides, Marco wasn't a person to piss off. She'd seen him dump a model in a pool during an underwear shoot in _November_, just because the poor girl had mentioned his hair loss.)

"Or were we?" Giana wondered, turning to her brother.

Zarine let out a short wail.

"Uh-oh," Fitz muttered to Maggie. "She's testing out the acoustics."

"Will, did Mum have us at home or in the hospital?" Giana asked.

(But when was Lizzy going to get the chance to see Will again?)

"Your turn," Maggie told her husband, and Fitz made a face.

"At the bloody hospital," Will said. "It's not the _nineteenth century_."

(All right, if Will noticed her, Lizzy promised herself, then she would stay.)

Giana leaned away from the table, scowling like she had when Aunty Cindy had taken her X-box away for a week so she'd get out of the house. "Well, you don't have to get all huffy."

(Of course, he was a little dense. It'd been almost half an hour, and he hadn't noticed her yet. None of them had, and the only one she hadn't met was Maggie.)

Zarine gave a little hiccup of a sob, and by the time, Will glanced behind him, her little face was red, her mouth open and screaming. Fitz pushed himself back from the conference table, camera bulbs flashing as he delivered an apologetic grin. With a heavy sigh, Maggie explained, "The Darcys were born in England."

(Lizzy reconsidered: if any of them noticed her in the next…say, four minutes, she would stay and contact Marco with her apologies later.)

Fitz knelt next to the baby carrier and murmured over his infant's screams as he reached down and picked her up, "Hey, Babe. You trying to say something?"

"But," continued Maggie, after glancing backwards to make sure her child and husband were all right, "since their mother was American, they have dual citizenship."

(Lizzy was annoyed to notice that she was struggling to keep her temper. After all, she had no right to get mad just because no one had looked her way yet.)

"Do we?" Giana asked, eyebrows raised, turning to Will. He nodded with a brief smile. "Well, scratch that earlier comment. Let's just say then that I make up most of NYU's demi-international student population," she said sheepishly, and the audience chuckled obliging.

(After all, the world didn't revolve around her.)

"Shit," Fitz said as he patted the baby's bottom. "Hey, Mags? I think we have a situation here." Without looking up, Maggie pulled the diaper bag off the back of her chair and tossed it at Fitz's feet.

(Not even Will's world.)

"All right, then. Mr. Bingley," he told Charlie, as he scooped up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and opened the side door, with Zarine nestled in the crook of his arm and crying, "make sure my cousins behave themselves."

(One minute left. Lizzy stared hard in Will's direction, wondering if she was going to have to take her delivery all the way back to Vickroot with her.)

Charlie nodded, half-smiling.

"_You_ make sure to use the baby powder," Maggie called to him, and Fitz rolled his eyes and went out the door.

(Lizzy decided that she was being ridiculous. So she tucked her camera back into her bag with a scowl, before ducking through the nearest exit.)

Amidst the glare of the camera bulbs and through the crowd of photographers, Will noticed the door close at the opposite end of the room and was only a little bitter that he couldn't follow whoever had managed to escape.

"What's the age difference?" asked somebody else.

Will leaned toward the microphone before his sister could respond. "Six years, but she acts younger, doesn't she?"

As a couple journalists laughed, Giana snatched the microphone up and said slyly, "_I_ act younger? I'm not the one who is certain to have cable on Saturday mornings so he watch _Batman Beyond_ reruns, and _I'm_ not the one who—"

Will reached again and grabbed the head of the microphone, blushing as the room laughed, even Maggie, even Charlie, the bloody traitor. Glancing at the back of the room, Will then caught the outline of a middle-aged newcomer, wearing a dark suit that might have been St. John'sand a shawl that might have been fox fur, and realized that this was going to be a _very_ long press conference.

4.

Lizzy wasn't sure what to do with Will's photographs, but she had ten minutes to figure it out (and another three to ride the elevator down to her lunch date with Marco). She _could_ just hang onto them, possibly take them back to Vickroot, but she'd really carried them too far to carry them back. She could also drop them off with Aunt Diana, who'd probably manage to get them to Will somehow, but that was no fun. So—because the security guard who was supposed to be watching the door marked PERSONNEL ONLY had gone to watch the press conference (thus leaving the entrance to the non-public side of the floor open for her personal use), Lizzy's preferred option was to sneak behind the scenes and see if she could leave them in Will's backpack or briefcase or something.

The only problem was that Lizzy had forgotten how _extensive_ the private side of the sixteenth floor was: there were two studios for photo shoots, eight dressing rooms, a kitchen, a closet (for clothes), another closet (for brooms), two living rooms, a TV room, a computer room, a pool room, and two other similar hallways. Two and a half minutes later, after Lizzy still hadn't managed to find any of the B.F.D.'s personal belongings, she heard a door close twenty feet away.

"Okay, so _you_ know and _I_ know that you're _not_ supposed to be here," drawled an angry voice behind her. "But if you leave your name and number, I'll be sure to get you fired so next time you'll leave this area to the band like you _are_ supposed to."

"Damn it, Fitz," Lizzy said, turning around, her hands on her hips and a bemused grin on her face. "I was managing to be so sneaky until you came along."

"Lizzy!" cried Fitz with a wide grin and hugged her with one arm. "Didn't recognize you, all dressed up and ready for business.—Careful of the baby," he added as the infant gurgled in his other arm.

"Hey, baby Zarine," said Lizzy, bending down and smiling at the girl Fitz was cradling. She was big for a six-month-old, and her eyes were bright and brown. She didn't have much hair yet, but what she did have came up to a point at the top of her head in a baby-sized brunette version of her father's red crest. When Lizzy offered the baby a finger, Zarine gripped with her soft, small, pink hands and smiled a three-toothed smile. "You're pretty cute, Zarine," Lizzy decided and glanced up at Fitz. "You must've spent your whole life practicing."

"Oh, _yeah,_ she was real cute a minute ago," Fitz said, kissing the top of Zarine's head with a proud smirk. "Me going through all the trouble of changing her diaper, and then she goes and spits up lunch."

Lizzy grinned and took her finger back from Zarine to keep the strap of her camera bag from slipping off her shoulder. "I'm sorry I missed it, then."

"Why? You got a thing for baby puke?" Fitz asked, pulling Zarine up to rest on his hip. Presented with his shoulder, Zarine started plucking at the top button of his shirt and looking up at her father open-mouthed to gauge his reaction.

"No, but it would've made a great picture."

"That's weird, kiddo," Fitz told Lizzy, grinning. Zarine reached up at his nose, and he caught her hand in his mouth, shaking it gently and making both the baby and Lizzy laugh. "So," Fitz said with another grin, this one smug, "you're here to see Will."

"I already saw him," Lizzy said matter-of-factly, pressing her lips together hard to keep herself from smiling.

Fitz looked at her sharply, halfway between wincing and frowning. "You did?"

Noticing that she'd lost her father's attention, Zarine hollered and banged her hands on his shoulder to earn it back. Fitz held his breath and blew his cheeks out like a blowfish to appease her, so Lizzy snapped a picture, laughing.

"Ooo!" Fitz cried, both he and the baby looking at the camera with delight. "Send me a print? For her baby book?"

Zarine reached toward Lizzy's camera, mouth open.

"Sure," Lizzy said, turning the camera off, putting the lens on, and holding it up so Zarine could explore it with her fingers. "Just give me a place to send it. I could even scan it and email it to you if that's—Hey!" Lizzy cried, looking up, a smile slowly curling around her mouth.

"Uh…Hi?" Fitz replied.

"Will you do me a favor?" Lizzy said, tucking her camera away (Zarine looked back to her father, her fingers in her mouth) and opening her briefcase.

Fitz considered, as Lizzy pulled out a big, brown envelope, heavy with thick, inflexible paper. "Okay," Fitz said with a heavy sigh. "But nothing sexual. Maggie would kill me. Will, too."

Straightening, Lizzy rolled her eyes and held out the envelope. Zarine reached for it, her mouth open and smiling. "This is for Will," Lizzy told the baby with a gentle smile.

"But you didn't give it to him?" Fitz asked looking it over with one raised, suspicious eyebrow.

Lizzy shook her head, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out for baby Zarine's benefit.

"Here," said Fitz, pushing the baby into Lizzy's arms. "Switch."

"What? You _can't_—" Lizzy sputtered, staring at the baby's wide eyes looking around wildly for something to hold onto. She quickly found a good tight grip on Lizzy's shirt. "I don't know what I'm doing," Lizzy told Fitz.

"You're giving my arms a rest. She can hold her own head up these days, so just brace her butt. That's easiest," Fitz told Lizzy, examining the folder. After Lizzy followed his advice and Zarine tangled her hands in Lizzy's necklace, he asked, "What _is_ this, kiddo? The reply letter? I don't want to set myself up for a lifetime of Will-Lizzy-Will courier service."

"Well, if you don't like it, I'll just send it on to Pemberley," Lizzy said grumpily, trying to grab at it and balance the baby at the same time.

Fitz raised it out of her reach with a lazy grin. "Nah, I don't mind. Just know I'm going to be reading over his shoulder when he opens it."

Lizzy shrugged, watching the baby try to poke her chin with the necklace. "That's fine," she murmured, smiling at Zarine.

Fitz grimaced. "Is it revenge?"

"No…" Lizzy said slowly. Zarine pushed the necklace into Lizzy's mouth, and Lizzy laughed, wrinkling her nose. "Why?" she asked, looking up at Fitz shrewdly. "Did something happen that needs avenging?"

"Well, your sister," Fitz said with a rueful grin.

"Oh, _Jane_," Lizzy said, turning back to Zarine, who'd started giggling. "I think Jane and Charlie are out of our hands by now."

Fitz let out a low whistle. "So, you haven't visited the tabloid section of your local grocery store in a while?"

"Oh, right—my photographs," Lizzy realized, narrowing her eyes at a suddenly wary Fitz. "How'd the press get a hold of _those_? Is there someone I need to go sue? Did Will have something to do with it? Did _you_—"

"Fitz!" Maggie Fitzwilliam's head appeared in a doorway down the hall, looking the wrong way. "Is Zarine okay? Why didn't you—" She looked the other direction and noticed her family with Lizzy. The smile dropped off her face, and she crossed the distance between them in fierce, quick strides to lift Zarine out of Lizzy's grasp. "_Fitz_," she said, looking from her husband to Lizzy with a cold glare, "what did I tell you about groupies and the baby?"

"_Seriously_," Lizzy snapped, crossing her arms, "what _is_ it with your family and thinking I'm a groupie?"

"Nonsense, kiddo," Fitz said, tickling the baby's stomach gently. "I bet the thought never crossed Zarine's mind."

"Only because she's too young to know what a groupie is," Lizzy said grumpily.

"_Fitz,_" Maggie warned.

Both Fitz and Lizzy turned to meet the manager's sharp-eyed glare. "Mags, guess who this is?" he asked, putting a hand on Lizzy's head.

"The mother of your third child," Maggie said grimly.

Lizzy grimaced. "Eww. _No_."

"I told you, Mags," Fitz said, slinging an arm around his wife's shoulders as the baby pulled at her mother's hoop earring, until it came off in her hand. Clip-ons, Lizzy realized, impressed. "Zarine's my first."

"As far as _you_ know," Maggie told him, plucking the earring out of Zarine's hands before it was mistaken for a teething ring. "God, you never know when someone's going to up and sue for child support."

"Sorry, Lizzy," Fitz said, making a face. "She's been like this ever since Will came clean on that Wendy show. Everything's a law suit waiting to happen."

Maggie scowled up at her husband. "You'd be like this too, if—oh," she said, turning back to Lizzy, mouth open (Lizzy guessed with a grin she was where Zarine got it from). "You're _Lizzy_. Wow. Okay."

Lizzy nodded. "Nice to meet you. Again."

"Aww," Fitz said, bending down to kiss the corner of his wife's mouth, "you're cute when you're all possessive."

Maggie smiled back absently. "You came to see Will?"

"Already did," Lizzy said firmly.

Fitz snorted and started fanning himself with the brown envelope.

"Did you?" Maggie said, frowning slightly. "But he's been in such a bad mood."

"What do you mean?" Lizzy asked.

"Well, he was beaming for weeks after he came back from England, even with all the mess about your—oh." Maggie stopped abruptly and looked at Lizzy again. "How's your cousin?"

"My cousin," Lizzy repeated in a flat voice, wondering what Will had been telling people.

"Yeah, the pregnant one," Fitz reminded her.

Maggie smacked his shoulder. To Lizzy, she explained, "Charlie found out, told Fitz; Fitz told me."

"But not Giana, right?" Lizzy said, just to reassure herself.

"Of course not," Fitz snorted. "Will would _eat_ us."

Lizzy looked from Fitz to his wife to baby Zarine. "No longer pregnant," she said softly.

"Oh," Maggie replied, eyes on the floor.

"Miscarriage," Lizzy explained, so they wouldn't misunderstand.

"_Oh_," said Maggie, looking up at Lizzy.

"_Shit_," said Fitz apologetically.

"Not in front of the baby," Maggie scolded. "I don't want her first word to be something Mrs. de Bourgh would faint at."

"Her first word's not going to be a cuss word, for God's sake," Fitz grumbled.

"_You _don't know that," Maggie said. "You still haven't read that baby book I gave you."

"_I_ didn't know that children came with instruction manuals," Fitz protested.

Lizzy pulled out her camera, grinning, so that she could frame a shot of the child on her mother's hip and the father looming above them, both parents scowling and the baby staring at the camera with frank, curious eyes. _Click_. "You want this one for your scrapbook, too?" she asked.

"Only if you do one of us smiling, too," Fitz said decisively. "Before and After."

"Before and after what?" Maggie asked suspiciously.

"Making up," Fitz replied and kissed her.

Lizzy snapped another shot, of Maggie laughing against Fitz's mouth and Zarine looking up at them with wide eyes.

"Disgusting," chimed a voice behind them, and they broke apart to see Giana sauntering down the hall. "You two should get a room. There are _quite_ enough of them, as I'm sure—" She stopped, gasping.

"Lizzy!" Giana cried and rushed the rest of the way to grab Lizzy in a hug. "I've _missed_ you. How _are_ you? You left Pemberley so suddenly, I was worried. Even Aunty Cindy was rather concerned, and you don't know how _much_ it takes for her to become concerned. Oh, and now you're laughing at me." Lizzy _was_ laughing, and even Fitz and Maggie were exchanging grins. "Well, I suppose I _am_ talking too much, but I _did_ miss you, Lizzy. Now I don't mind so much that Will sent me after Maggie and Fitz.—I think he wants to gather the troops before Aunt Catty finishes up with the press," she explained to her cousins.

Fitz grimaced, and Maggie laughed and kissed his cheek.

"You come with _us_," Giana said, taking Lizzy's hand. "He'll be so glad to see you. You _are_ here to see Will, aren't you?"

"I've already seen him," Lizzy replied with a slow smile.

"You have? But only in the conference room, right?" Giana guessed. "And he hasn't seen you?"

"Aha!" said Fitz triumphantly when Lizzy nodded. "I knew it."

"But that's terrible. He'll be so upset to find that we've seen you when he hasn't," Giana protested. "You can't leave us to that. That's rather cruel."

"I can't help it. I have to meet someone in—" Lizzy checked her watch, looked up wide-eyed, and then checked it again. "_Shit_. In two minutes. _Crap_.—Oh, sorry, Zarine," she added, when she noticed Maggie's scowl.

Giana looked so disappointed that Lizzy dug an old receipt from the pocket of her camera bag and scribbled on it. "Here," she told Giana, handing over the paper. "This is my home number. Call me, and I'll come back to the city so we can have lunch."

Giana brightened. "Friday, then? I don't have classes Friday."

"Sure, just call me," Lizzy said, kissing Giana's forehead and scooping up her briefcase.

"One minute left," Fitz said in a sing-song.

Lizzy shot him a glare before running down the hall, and Maggie snapped, "_Fitz_, don't be an asshole.—Oh, shit. Sorry, Zarine."

"You did it again," Fitz pointed out behind Lizzy, and before his wife could reply, Lizzy was through the PERSONNEL ONLY door and headed for the elevator.

5.

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, alias Darlington (stage name Dar), had nothing personal against optimism. Unless, of course, it differed from his personal opinion.

"Well," Charlie said, scratching the back of his neck absent-mindedly with a resigned sigh, "I think it wasn't half bad."

Will slammed open the door to the nearest lounge and strode toward his guitar case, snapping the latches open. "Wasn't _half bad_?" he repeated. "Were you _there_?"

"Of course, I was there," Charlie replied, watching Will pull out his acoustic guitar. "I was sitting right next to you. I just think Giana did really well. You should be proud of her."

Will threw himself in the nearest sofa, brown leather and overstuffed. "All right, it wasn't _half_ bad, I grant you," he said, beginning to tune his guitar. "But in the second half, after Aunt Catherine arrived, it was _all_ bad."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, half-smiling, "it was pretty much a mistake for her to start spouting about the glory of the Darcy name."

"It isn't _funny_, Charlie," Will snapped.

"No, of course not," Charlie replied with a glimmer of his old carefree grin. "But when the girl from _Y.M._ asked her about animal rights and that ugly fur thing, and our manager managed to bring up your great-great-grand-dad Eddie Darcy, greatest fox hunter in Derbyshire, I have to admit I was thinking French farce."

Will sighed and strummed a chord absently. "I was thinking what a load of crap Giana's going to get when she returns to school."

"She _is_ a big girl," Charlie pointed out, and Will made a face. "I know you don't want to hear that, but—"

"Next time you have a younger sister," Will replied curtly, "you can try to tell me how I should feel."

Charlie sighed and opened up the mini-bar to find himself a soda. "Don't be an asshole. You're not the only one who cares about Giana."

Instead of answering, Will put his guitar through the opening chords of "Fire and Ice."

"God, Will," Charlie snapped, "it's not the apocalypse."

"Aunt Catherine's not here yet," Will said darkly.

They heard Giana shout "Fitz!" right outside the door, and a second later, the drummer himself appeared grinning, a large brown envelope raised high above his head, his red crest taller than ever. Giana followed, jumping for the envelope, and Fitz raised it a little higher smugly. "You great bastard," Giana grumbled, "_I_ want to give it to him."

"The job, my dear cousin, was entrusted to me," Fitz reminded her, bowing his head gravely, but still keeping the envelope high out of her reach.

Giana scowled, and then Maggie entered the room, toting Zarine in her carrier and told her husband shortly, "Stop teasing her."

Fitz sighed heavily and tossed the envelope on the coffee table in front of Will. "Mr. Darcy," he announced, "has a delivery."

Maggie was smiling as she put the baby carrier on the neighboring armchair and pulled Zarine out, and Giana beamed as she took a front row seat at the coffee table. Charlie looked questioningly at Fitz, who only raised one red brow with a smirk. Will leaned over the guitar in his lap, ripping open the shortest side with his pick. When he lifted the envelope, a thick stack of prints slid into his hand.

"Oh, bloody fucking hell," Will muttered pale-faced, as he examined the first photograph and recognized the deteriorating balcony of the half-finished master bedroom. "Someone's gotten into Pemberley." Giana's mouth fell open for a half-second, before she burst into giggles. "Giana, this is quite serious," Will told her sternly, turning to the next photograph, depicting Giana smiling through the open window of a train car. "They even followed us to London. Do you know who delivered this?" Will asked Fitz sharply. "Does he want money?"

"Will, I say this because I love you," Fitz said with a tolerant smile. "You're fucking paranoid. You need _help_. The kind that comes with couches and a nice lady with a clipboard who—"

"No, he doesn't," Charlie interrupted, and Maggie added, "Besides I don't have time to find him a suitable therapist right now."

"Will, did you check to see if there was a note?" Fitz asked patiently.

Will flipped through the photographs and shook his head, scowling at a print of his own half-smiling face. "No."

Giana grabbed the envelope and peeked inside. "Here it is," she cried triumphantly, pulling out a light blue Post-It note. "It was stuck on the side."

"Bingo," Fitz said triumphantly.

Taking it from his sister's out-stretched hand, Will skimmed it quickly, and his mouth fell promptly open. Fitz grinned, Maggie gave Zarine a bottle smiling, Giana giggled again, and Will read it again.

"Will, what does it say?" Charlie asked. "Who's it from?"

Will let out a surprised noise, smiled briefly, and read it a third time.

"Well, Mr. Darcy, what _does_ it say?" Fitz said, winking at his wife. When Will's only response was to allow a wide, bright smile to grow on his face, Fitz got impatient and snatched it out of his cousin's hand.

"Fitz!" Will snapped but didn't stop his cousin when Fitz read out in a clear ceremonious voice, "_This is twice now I've come to you. It's your turn. Lizzy_."

"Lizzy?" Charlie repeated startled. "Lizzy _Bennet_? She was here?"

"You might need glasses, Will," Giana said, thumbing through the photographs. "She's signed all these. And dated them as well. I don't know how you missed it."

"Paranoid," Fitz said smugly, "like I said. It's still not much of a note though, Will. I don't know why you're grinning so much."

Will tried to ease the smile off his face, but it grew back just as soon as he'd conquered it. "But she was here? Lizzy came to see me?"

"I tried to get her to come, but she had to go meet someone," Giana explained apologetically. "You might catch her," she added hopefully.

"I don't know; she was in a pretty big hurry," Fitz pointed out. "She's the type that makes tracks when she needs to."

"How was she?" Will asked.

"Huh," mused Maggie, smiling. "We thought you'd be upset."

"Lizzy was _here_," Charlie said again, trying to make sure. "But how'd she get back here?"

"Her aunt heads the Keefe-Moore Agency," Maggie explained to Charlie.

"Their aunt is Diana Gardiner?" Charlie said, gaping.

"But how was Lizzy?" Will said impatiently. "How did she look?"

"Cute as a designer button," Fitz said decisively.

"Mmm, she looked a little tired," Maggie said, putting Zarine back in her carrier. When she noticed the rest of the room looking toward her, she raised her eyebrows. "_What_? She was pretty--don't get me wrong; she just looked like she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a while."

Will looked from Maggie to Fitz, who shrugged. "She looked fine to me."

"Yeah, but you're not exactly the most perceptive guy on the planet, honey," Maggie reminded him.

"I resent that," Fitz said stoutly.

"Fitz, _Will_ noticed that I had morning sickness before you did," Maggie said, "and _you_ live with me."

"Hey, I maintain that the tour bus could've been making you carsick," Fitz said, flipping the blue Post-It over and over in his hand. "Hey, man," he told Will grinning again. "There's something written on the back."

"What?" Will said, watching the grin fall off Fitz's face as he skimmed it. He handed it back wordlessly, so Will could read Lizzy's slanting, looping handwriting: "_I hope you didn't actually pay Wickham anything._"

"What is it?" Giana asked, craning her neck to look.

Will opened his mouth to answer but couldn't think of anything to say.

"A postscript," Fitz said simply.

"Lizzy—" said Charlie, so hesitantly that the room turned toward him. "She came alone?"

Will looked from Charlie to Fitz, frowning slightly, and Fitz was sending Maggie a panicked look. So, it was Giana, arms crossed, who said, "For God's sake, Charlie. _You_ left _Jane_, remember?"

"_Giana_," Will hissed, glancing at Charlie's stricken face.

"You lot keep babying him," she snapped back, "but he's an adult, isn't he? I can't see how you're the victim of this situation. He's responsible for his own actions."

"This is the stage where Giana starts applying her women's studies courses to real life, huh?" Fitz muttered to his wife, who gave him a warning look.

"If I were Jane, I wouldn't make the first move either," Giana said stubbornly.

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Giana," Will said, gently stacking Lizzy's photographs together and turned to watch Charlie lean against the wall, white-faced and staring at the carpet.

"Yeah, Charlie _has_ been having a hard time," Maggie pointed out, as Will picked up his guitar and lazily plucked out the beginning of "End Where I've Begun" watching Charlie intently, "what with those photographs and all the shit he gets for them."

"I don't need your pity, Maggie," Charlie said in a low voice, flicking his gaze toward her.

Giana stiffened, looking from Charlie's scowl to Will uncertainly, but Maggie only put her hands on her hips. "Don't be a punk, Charlie. I'm just pissed that somebody managed to leak year-old photos to the tabloids. And from Vickroot no less; I didn't hand over those photos from me and Fitz for _nothing_."

Fitz looked over at Will, but Will's attention was fixed on Charlie, whose gaze had returned to the floor. "Okay, Mr. Darcy—I hate to end the game," Fitz said, "but if we keep this up any longer, I'll be sleeping on the couch until Zarine goes to college."

Charlie looked up again, and Maggie turned slowly toward her husband, lips pursed and waiting.

"Fine," Will said, hands on the top of his guitar and sending his sister a brief, reassuring smile.

"Well?" Maggie asked her husband.

Fitz gulped, his red crest deflating. "Now Mags, remember: I'm the father of your child. Think about how fucked-up Zarine'll turn out if you kill me."

"It was us," Will explained.

"What was you?" Giana said.

"We took the photos from Charlie's computer and sent them out anonymously," Will continued, looking at Charlie.

"_What_?" Maggie snapped.

Giana's mouth was open. "But—"

"We wanted to get Charlie to _do_ something," Fitz protested. "He was just moping around, and we though if he had to see her and think about her all the time—"

"And you couldn't just _talk_ to him?" Maggie snapped.

"You bastard," Charlie told Will, crossing the room in stiff-legging strides. "I swear to God, Will—" he stopped, just next to the coffee table, shaking with fury.

"If you're going to hit me," Will told his best friend in his calmest voice, "I'd like to put my guitar down first."

Charlie didn't move, fists at his sides, and as Will lowered his guitar gently to the floor beside the couch, Giana squeaked and clapped both hands over her mouth.

Then, another figure entered the room, standing in the doorway, a fur wrap around her shoulders, her hair pulled slickly back. "Well, Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, I am thoroughly _disappointed_ in you," said Mrs. de Bourgh. "I hope you're happy, _dragging_ me from my delightful home at Rosings—"

The only person in the room who'd moved was Giana, who had made a half-hearted attempt to stand between Charlie and her brother. "Aunt Catherine, if you wouldn't mind stepping outside for a moment," Will said softly. "We have a bit of a situation at the moment."

"_Nonsense_. I am your manager. I must _manage_ your situations," trilled Mrs. de Bourgh, sweeping into the room. After a moment, after Will continued to quietly endure Charlie's glare, Mrs. de Bourgh added, "And what _is_ the situation?"

"Me," Charlie growled finally. "But don't let me bother you," he said, turning and heading for the door. "No one needs to _manage_ me anymore."

"Well," Mrs. de Bourgh sniffed when he was gone, "Charles is _rude_ today."

Will released a long, low breath, glancing at Fitz, who grimaced. Giana's hands were in her lap; her eyes were wide. "Are you all right?" her brother asked.

"I didn't know Charlie ever _got_ quite that angry," she said.

"_What_ is going on here?" Mrs. de Bourgh boomed, and when Zarine started to cry, Fitz cursed and picked her up to calm her.

"It doesn't happen often," Will agreed. When Giana barely looked up, he said, "Come here." She came, eyes still downcast, and Will hugged her gently.

"I demand to know what's going on," Mrs. de Bourgh repeated, raising her nose dangerously in the air.

"Did I make it worse?" Giana whispered.

Will shook his head. "_I_ did."

"Charlie's just really and rightfully pissed," Maggie explained with an angry sigh.

"It's a club," Fitz said, rocking the baby gently, grimacing as she screamed. "Zarine seems to be its youngest member."

"_Not_ cute, Fitz," Maggie snapped, and he sulked.

"You all right?" Will asked again.

"Yeah," Giana chirped, flashing a smile to prove it.

"I trust Charles will recover then," Mrs. de Bourgh announced, sitting primly in the armchair opposite Zarine as if it were a throne. "If we could then, _discuss_ a few things."

Giana stood up abruptly. "That's my cue," she said, taking a slightly panicked step toward her bag. "I have class."

"Absolutely not. Sit down, young lady," Mrs. de Bourgh ordered, and Giana docilely took a seat again next to her brother, who picked up his guitar. "We have _business_ to discuss."

Will began absentmindedly plucking out a tune, ignoring the withering gaze his aunt directed toward him.

"First, I can't _say_ what _possessed_ you to organize a press conference without me," declared Mrs. de Bourgh with an all-suffering air. Now Will was humming along, watching his sister for a response. "However, my contacts are very good; my transportation is adequate, and—"

Giana turned to Will, smiling incredulously, and Will grinned back through the next few notes. The song was "Cruella de Ville."

"I was able to _salvage_ the_ rest _of the meeting," Mrs. de Bourgh told them, eyeing the young Darcys with disapproval. "So, we may proceed. Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, _cease_ that infernal plucking _this instant_."

Will stopped, smiling politely, his hand stilling the strings. "Yes, ma'am," he said, winking at Giana and standing.

"William, your actions these past two days have been intolerable. The consequences of those actions," she continued, as Will strode to his guitar case, "have had _terrible_ repercussions for everyone _in this room_. You should be _ashamed_ of yourself. Your _mother_ would be ashamed of you. Your father…" She turned to watch Will close his guitar case. "Are you _listening_ to me, William?"

"Yes, ma'am," Will said quietly, latching it shut. "Mother is ashamed of me, I understand."

Fitz snorted at the back of the room. Maggie carefully lifted Zarine out of his arms before smacking him on the shoulder.

"And you, Miss Georgiana," began Mrs. de Bourgh, and Will looked up scowling, noticing Giana's wide eyes, her hands tucked politely in her lap, "that was the most _vulgar_ display of—"

"Don't speak to my sister that way," Will said sharply, and Giana turned, eyes widening even more. Fitz whistled under his breath, and when Maggie smacked him again, he put his arm around her.

Mrs. de Bourgh's eyebrows lifted primly. "I was only _pointing_ out—"

"Giana was quite charming," Will told his aunt, and when Giana beamed, he added, "Rather _too_ charming. You'll have them following you now."

"Damn," Giana said, hunching her shoulders and pouting.

"_Language_, Miss Georgiana!" trilled Mrs. de Bourgh.

Giana winced. "Sorry, Zarine," she said, but Maggie just shook her head, hiding a smile.

"Next, I would like to ask _you_, William," Mrs. de Bourgh said, lifting a thin, white envelope, "what this is."

"A standard envelope," Will said, adding "ma'am" as an afterthought, when Mrs. de Bourgh raised her eyebrows high.

"Yes, one addressed to _me_," Mrs. de Bourgh announced.

"Good to know that you're not opening our mail anymore," Fitz said.

"_Fitz_," Maggie hissed, and Giana giggled, a little nervously.

"Well, it _is_ a federal offense," Fitz pointed out.

"Do you know what it _contains_?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked Will.

"No, ma'am," he replied, moving to the side-table where he'd kept his computer bag.

"One of your _personal_ checks," Mrs. de Bourgh announced, raising her eyebrows even higher, "made out to me. For a _respectable _sum."

Will snorted softly, as he picked up Lizzy's photographs and tucked them tenderly into the front pocket of his computer bag. "Glad you find it respectable then."

"Do you have an _explanation_ for this?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked with a disdainful frown. "Or shall I _assume_ that I've become the _object _of your _charity_?"

"It's a payment towards my tuition at St. Marks School and Boston University," Will explained, zipping his computer case shut and slinging it over his shoulder, "plus fifty percent interest."

Fitz started to say something, and Maggie reached over and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"That was an investment in your _future_, William; there's no need for this," Mrs. de Bourgh said with an attempt at a smile.

"That's a kind sentiment, Aunt Catherine," Will said, walking back to pick up his guitar case, "but I accepted your generosity as a loan. I apologize if you misunderstood."

"I cannot accept this, William," Mrs. de Bourgh told him firmly.

Will looked up coolly, his computer bag over his shoulder, his guitar case in his hand. "The check is in your hands. Whether or not you deposit it is your choice," he said, and now he was smirking, "but I imagine that you might put it to good use at Rosings."

"I won't endure insolence from you," Mrs. de Bourgh said, rising from her seat.

"Yes, ma'am," Will said, still smirking as he turned to his sister. "_Do_ you have class, Giana?" She nodded, her eyes wide still but half-smiling. "Come on, then. I'll take you back."

"You can't leave now, William," Mrs. de Bourgh told him. "I _forbid_ it."

Giana looked from her aunt to her brother, slowly standing from the sofa. "Go ahead," Will said, and Giana hurried to gather her books. "I needed to find Charlie," Will explained to Maggie, who nodded.

"Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, _what_ is the matter with you?" Mrs. de Bourgh trilled with a fierce scowl.

Her shrill voice got Zarine's started again, and Maggie stood up, sighing at the screaming baby. "That's my cue," she said and carried Zarine and the diaper bag into the next room.

"Lizzy," replied Fitz with a lazy grin, handing Giana her purse. "Just a guess," he added as Will smiled slowly back and their aunt stared them both down.

"Ready?" Will asked Giana, who nodded, purse and backpack in hand.

"Who _is_ this Lizzy person?" Mrs. de Bourgh snapped, as the Darcy siblings headed toward the door.

"Same one you met at Rosings," Fitz told his aunt wickedly. "You know, Charlotte's friend."

"The _groupie_?" Mrs. de Bourgh cried aghast.

Giana gasped. "Lizzy was a groupie?"

"Ooo, don't tell Lizzy you said that," Fitz advised his young cousin. "Ever"

"Lizzy was _never _a groupie," Will told Giana firmly from the doorway.

"What does Eliza Bennet have to do with anything?" Mrs. de Bourgh said impatiently.

"Will's going to marry her," Fitz said matter-of-factly.

"_What_?" cried Giana, already halfway outside. "You _are_?"

Will only smiled widely and told Fitz, "I'll call when I find Charlie," before closing the door gently on Mrs. de Bourgh's horrified face.

5.

Lizzy knew she was being stupid. She'd known how stupid it'd be even on the train ride back to Vickroot, when it had occurred to her that Giana might leak Lizzy's phone number to Will. That still hadn't stopped her from carrying her phone around in her pocket everywhere she went. It had been four days.

Lydia emerged from her room, yawning hugely. "God, if I have to read any more Freud, I'm going to prescribe myself crack and go on sabbatical to do case studies on my relatives."

Lizzy laughed, her legs stretched out under the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her. "You're only a freshman. You're not eligible for sabbatical yet"

"Damn ageists," Lydia muttered, snagging the remote from the coffee table and dropping onto the couch. "Oh, dear television," she said in a sing-song, hitting the power button. "I've missed you so during this terrible, terrible mid-term-ridden time."

Lizzy grinned and turned to her sister. Jane was gazing into the fridge with a slight frown and commenting, "I don't know what we're going to have for dinner."

"Pasta Salad," Lizzy suggested, deleting a typo and retyping the sentence quickly

Jane checked the lower drawers. "We don't have any vegetables."

"We could go get some, you know," Lydia pointed out, turning on the TV. "The paparazzi is on a forced vacation, so that shouldn't stop you."

"What? They're gone?" Jane asked, shutting the fridge and going to look. "But they were so _bad_ this morning. I went to class this morning, and they were asking me all these questions."

"About Lizzy, right?" Lydia said, looking up from the dating show she was watching. "They did that to me, too."

"_Me_?" Lizzy said startled.

"Yeah," Jane said. "They wanted to know if she was engaged yet." Lizzy snorted, and Jane smiled shrugging. "I figured Collins said something they misunderstood. I just wonder why they all cleared out," Jane said thoughtfully.

"They were making too much racket for me and Freud, so I called campus security," Lydia said, flipping through channels and smirking.

Jane gasped. "You _didn't_."

"Now why didn't we think of that before?" Lizzy wondered with a wide, proud grin at Lydia.

"Well, you don't have a friend in campus patrol," Lydia commented, pausing at the TV Guide channel to see if any good movies were on. "And Frank—that's my friend—said when campus security approached the photographer, they were so shitty that security called the police." Jane gasped again, hands over her mouth. "Then, one of the reporters tried to pull the freedom-of-the-press clause in a _very_ pissy way so all of them got carted off to jail."

"Oh, my God," Jane said horrified, but Lizzy was laughing.

"I don't think they'll be back for a few days," Lydia said smugly.

"If I do go to the grocery store," said Jane, going to the hallway closet and pulling on a dark green hoodie over her jeans, "what do we want for dinner?"

"Pasta Salad," Lizzy said, looking up with hopeful, pleading eyes.

"Or spaghetti," Lydia said, eyes reading the screen. "It's already 7:05, so something fast."

"Shit, it's seven already?" Lizzy said, snapping her laptop shut. "Turn it to channel 12 quick."

Lydia obliged and immediately rolled her eyes. "_Fabulous Life_?" Lydia asked. "Celebrity Squabbles, Caught on Tape?"

"He's my friend," Lizzy protested, nodding at the small, balding interviewee in an electric blue suit and yellow sunglasses, "and Marco called me this morning to tell me to watch it. He said something else too, something about being prepared, but the message was all garbled."

"Oh, that's the photographer you had lunch with in New York?" Jane said quietly. "Marco Vignilini?"

Lizzy nodded, half-listening to Marco talk about the Duff-Lohan conflicts. "He doubles as the town gossip," Lizzy said absently.

The screen flashed a brief red-carpet clip of a silk-clad Lindsey Lohan passing Hillary Duff, giving her a dirty look through heavily mascara-ed lashes, and Lizzy heard Marco say, _"They are so cute. It is just like a cat-fight among the teenagers, except that instead of ordering the pizzas for the wrong address, they try order the Mercedes for the wrong address."_

Jane leaned against the kitchen table, smirking at her sister, and Lydia fought a laugh, watching a cut-out of Duff use a dump truck to bury a cut-out of Lohan in silver Mercedes convertibles.

"He's a really good photographer," Lizzy said apologetically. "Ground-breaking in digital color."

"Uh-huh," said Jane, as _Fabulous Life_ moved onto a clip of Lindsey Lohan in _Mean Girls_. "He's the one who offered you the apprenticeship at his studio?"

Lizzy nodded. "But you know," she said, seeing Marco fold his hands smugly after telling the world how much money Duff had spent to get back at Lohan, "I really doubt I'll take it after this, though."

"You don't want to see the behind-the-scenes world of _Fabulous Life_?" Lydia teased, as the deep-voiced announcer (not Marco) declared, _"But no one knows how to smile pretty for the camera like celebrities' model-girlfriends."_

Rolling her eyes, Lizzy resisted the urge to start a pillow fight, until the announcer continued, "_And nobody is more photogenic these days than Dar's girlfriend, Elizabeth Bennet, former supermodel Beth Bennette_."

Lizzy's mouth fell open, and Jane dropped the car keys. Lydia turned around, staring at Lizzy over the back of the sofa. "That's not true," Lydia said slowly, "is it?"

Jane was staring at her twin so hand that Lizzy felt her cheeks flush red, but she couldn't answer.

"_Oh,_ _Beth_," said Marco with a wide smile. "_Beth is adorable_." The screen changed, flashing a five-year-old picture of Lizzy, something from a faux-combat shoot for an Italian designer whose name she'd forgotten: she was wearing a grey camouflage, silk dress and those lace-up stilettos that had dyed her skin black from toes to thigh. There was a sword in her hand too, just a prop, but she remembered it was so heavy that she couldn't raise it more than a foot from the ground.

"Wow, Lizzy—you were _hot_," Lydia said matter-of-factly. "You could've been on Xena."

"_Beth has always been a maker of trouble,"_ Marco explained, as the camera focused on Lizzy's face, her hair—long then—teased into a giant mass of curls, her mouth in a lop-sided smirk, one eyebrow raised in challenge. _"She is known still for taking on the scariest names in the industry. She was sent off a shoot—not one of mine—for arguing with the photographer. She did not like how he was speaking to her fellow models."_

"Marco, you asshole, you fucking _asshole_," Lizzy snapped, grabbing a pillow from the couch and hurling it at the screen.

Lydia squawked, lurching forward to steady the television set. "Lizzy, I know you're upset, but if you break my TV, I swear to God, something will go wrong in your darkroom.

Lizzy was pacing now, scowling and ready to hit something else. "I take it back. I take it all back. We are _not_ friends. And he is so getting his ass kicked when I see him next."

"_This week just after attending the Darcy press conference this Tuesday,_" Marco announced, grinning as the camera turned back to him, "_Beth took it upon her adorable self to take on the biggest bch in the music business."_ The screen changed to show a scowling steel-haired woman in black wool suit. _"Mrs. Katherine de Bourgh, manager of the B.F.D. and Fitz and Dar's aunt."_

"But it's not true—" Jane said hesitantly, pressing her lips together delicately.

"Of course, it's not _true_," Lizzy snapped. "Okay, so I _did_ get fired once for mouthing off at McTerrin (not my fault; he was hitting on everybody). And I _did_ go to Will's press conference and have a run-in with the de Bourgh bitch so _that's_ true. But not—" Lizzy stopped, took a deep steadying breath. "Not the other part."

"So basically, the part where you're _actually _dating Dar," Lydia said.

"Yeah, basically," Lizzy said, as Marco told a story about how Mrs. de Bourgh sent three personal assistant past the point of Nervous Breakdown.

Lydia pouted, turning back to the screen, which now showed Mrs. de Bourgh sporting horns and a cartoon tail to match. "Damn. That was the good part."

"But why didn't you _tell_ me?" Jane accused.

"How _could_ I?" Lizzy snapped. When her sister flinched, Lizzy's scowl softened, and she forced himself to take another deep breath. "Jane, I'm sorry; it's just—"

"_And it all came down to a spectacular confrontation on the quad of Vickroot University,"_ Marco announced brightly.

"Oh, God," Lizzy moaned, covering her face with her hands.

"Cool," Lydia said, as the screen changed to home quality footage, one that unmistakably caught Lizzy in her best grey suit, just in front of the freshman dorms, hurriedly shrugging off her jacket and glaring viciously to her right.

"I didn't see _anybody_," Lizzy murmured, staring helplessly at her image on the screen. "I'd just came back from the city, and Mrs. de Bourgh was waiting for me on that bench. But I could've sworn there wasn't anybody else around."

"Happens to the best of us," Jane said comfortingly, and Lizzy's gaze slid from the TV to Jane's barely-concealed grin in disbelief.

"_Only one of your kind would force upon me an indignity of watching you undress in public_," said a voice off-screen, and the camera swung around to reveal Mrs. de Bourgh, her nose raised high over her fox shawl.

"_It's hot out_," onscreen Lizzy snapped irritably, as she ripped her heels off too. "_If you want to suffer in that fur wrap, that's your choice, but I don't have to._"

"_Such insolence, Miss Eliza—" _began Mrs. de Bourgh haughtily.

Lizzy shook out her jacket twice and folded it over her arm. "_Look, Mrs. de Bourgh, I really doubt you came all this way to insult me, but if you did, I'm going to leave. I have a thesis to edit."_

Lydia snorted, glancing away from the screen toward her cousins with a grin, amd on the screen behind her, Mrs. de Bourgh sniffed, drawing herself up to her full height. _"I think you know why I am here, Miss Eliza_."

Lizzy groaned, listening to her onscreen self protest that she actually didn't know why Mrs. de Bourgh was at Vickroot. "Didn't they edit this at _all_?" she complained, glaring at the TV.

"_You must,"_ said Mrs. de Bourgh stiffly.

"Apparently not," Jane replied, trying not to smile at her sister's expression.

"_If I did,"_ onscreen Lizzy pointed out grimly, _"I wouldn't waste our time asking."_

"_I've heard some rumors that disturb me greatly," _Mrs. de Bourgh said, with a disapproving scowl.

"_What?"_ Lizzy asked, with a provoking grin. _"You just found out Rosings is about fifty years younger than you bought it for?"_

Mrs. de Bourgh raised her chin, her scowl deepening. _"About relations between you and my nephew."_

"Oh, fuck," Lizzy grumbled, and Jane sat down at the table to watch the screen more comfortably, patting her sister's arm absentmindedly.

On-screen Lizzy regarded Mrs. de Bourgh steadily, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. _"Well, gosh—me and Fitz are just friends_," she said lightly. _"He's happily married; even you know that._"

"_You know very well that I am speaking of William,"_ Mrs. de Bourgh snapped.

"_Apparently, I'm a little dense today_," Lizzy replied icily._ "You're going to have to be more specific."_

"_Are you or are you not engaged to my nephew, William Darcy?"_ said Mrs. de Bourgh, nose raised high.

"Whoa," sputtered Lydia, glancing at her cousins over the back of the couch, and Lizzy sighed heavily.

"_What?"_ Lizzy snorted._ "Of course not_," she added and laughed.

"Good," Jane told her sister. "You might have been in trouble if you hadn't told me _that_."

Mrs. de Bourgh was breathing a very _visible_ sigh of relief. _"Now I demand your word that you will never enter such an engagement."_

"Uh-oh," Lydia said.

"I don't think Mrs. de Bourgh knows who she's messing with," Jane agreed with a slight smile at her sister.

"_Excuse me?"_ said Lizzy, eyebrows raised.

"Do you think we could microwave some popcorn?" Lydia asked, settling herself more comfortably on the couch.

"_And that you will never have any further relations with my nephews. _Both_ of them," _Mrs. de Bourgh added.

"I think we should turn this off now," Lizzy told her cousin, walking to the couch and reaching for the remote.

"Uh-uh," said Lydia grinning, holding it out of Lizzy's reach.

"_Absolutely not_," Lizzy told Mrs. de Bourgh, her hands on her hips.

"I'm serious. I don't want to see anymore," Lizzy said, leaning over the back of the couch and grabbing at it.

"No way," Lydia said, stuffing it under some cushions and throwing herself in front of it.

"Two against one," Jane told her sister, but Lizzy ignored that, trying to shove her hand around Lydia and under the cushion.

"_Don't look at me like that," _Lizzy snapped, as Mrs. de Bourgh raised her eyebrows high, her mouth set in a grim line. "_I don't owe you anything."_

"_Do you have any idea what this could to his career?" _Mrs. de Bourgh hissed.

"_Don't give me that shit,"_ Lizzy snapped back, her cheeks flushing. "_Will can handle his own career."_

On the couch, Lizzy managed to get one finger on the plastic remote, but Lydia poked her in the armpit and Lizzy involuntarily jumped back.

"_Don't be stupid_," Mrs. de Bourgh spat, her eyes glittering in the dusky light, her nose crooked and high. _"Do you know what life under the cameras is like? Do you know what the press will unearth?"_

In a last-ditch effort, Lizzy turned toward the TV set and reached for the power button, but Lydia was faster, grabbing Lizzy's arm and yanking her off balance, laughing as her cousin fell into her lap. "Nice try, Lizzy."

"_I've read your file,_" Mrs. de Bourgh told Lizzy, brows drawn tight and fierce.

"Lydia, I'm serious," Lizzy growled, struggling to get back up, but Lydia's arms were clamped around her waist.

"_I have a file?"_ Lizzy asked impressed.

"Jane, help!" Lydia cried giggling, and Jane piled on top of them playfully, trapping Lizzy in place.

"_Your father is a philandering, second-rate photographer. He abandoned your family before your birth,"_ Mrs. de Bourgh declared, and both onscreen and offscreen Lizzy turned to her with sharp, matching scowls. "_Your mother has been engaged three times and married only once, in Vegas, a marriage which was annulled barely a month later. You yourself were nearly engaged to Greg Trebent, who has since been arrested twice for possession of illegal substances. Last spring, your sister—once at the top of her class—was nearly expelled from medical school for poor attendance. Before the age of eighteen, your cousin—"_

"_That's enough," _Lizzy interrupted sharply, chin lowered, her voice shaking.

Lydia turned from the screen to Lizzy, her mouth open and helpless,. Lizzy took her hand wordlessly and tried to smile.

"_This is what journalists will see when they look into your background,"_ said Mrs. de Bourgh, quieter now but triumphant, her smile slight and smug. "_This is what they will report—"_

"Bitch," Jane snapped, glaring at the screen, and Lydia turned to her with a trembling grin. Lizzy whooped proudly, and Jane blushed.

"_I said that's enough," _Lizzy repeated, eyes narrowed again, more fiercely. "_If that's all you have to say, I'm going. I don't have to listen to this."_

"_Is it money you want?" _Mrs. de Bourgh asked with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "_Name it. To protect nephew, I'll pay any price."_

"Unbelievable," Lydia said.

"_Fifty thousand_," Mrs. de Bourgh offered, and onscreen Lizzy shook her head slowly, scowling darkly.

"Oh, my God, Lizzy," Jane whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. "You didn't _hit_ her, did you?"

"_One hundred thousand_," Mrs. de Bourgh said, and Lydia's mouth dropped open.

"I should have," Lizzy sighed, watching her onscreen self push past Mrs. de Bourgh and stalk down the sidewalk, camera bag bouncing on her hip.

"_A quarter million!_" Mrs. de Bourgh cried after her, and onscreen Lizzy froze.

She turned slowly, waiting just long enough for the small, smug smile to return to the older woman's face before asking sweetly, _"What's got you so desperate, Mrs. de Bourgh? Is your contract about to lapse or something? Scared that the B.F.D. is going to give your job to someone else?" _With that, Lizzy turned on her barefoot heel, and stalked down the sidewalk, heels in hand, leaving Mrs. de Bourgh gaping in her tracks.

"Go, Lizzy!" cheered Lydia.

Even Jane grabbed Lizzy around the neck and kissed her stoutly on the cheek. "You're awesome," Jane told Lizzy firmly, as the screen changed to one Mary Ann Phillips, from _People_, who began an intro for another model.

"Even though I just completely chewed out Collins' boss?" Lizzy asked wearily. "_On TV?"_

"Oh…" said Jane thoughtfully, as she sprang to her feet, short red hair bouncing. "So, that's why she sounds so familiar."

"Who's Collins?" Lydia asked, looking at Jane.

"You still have my permission to kick as much ass as you need," Jane told Lizzy cheerfully, "even if it's the ass of Collins' boss."

Lizzy smiled. "Thanks, Jane—_Shit!"_ she added, as something in her pocket started moving.

"Collins," Jane explained to Lydia with a wide mischievous smile, "was the first man to propose to Lizzy."

"_Jane_," Lizzy scolded, drawing out her vibrating phone and flipped it open, half-expecting to hear Charlotte on the other end, calling to tell the Bennet twins that she was suddenly homeless. "Hello?" Lizzy asked wearily.

"Lizzy?" asked a young British (female) voice worriedly.

"Giana?" Lizzy said, sitting up abruptly as Jane explained Collins to Lydia.

"Are you all right?" Giana asked. "You sound like someone just ruined your favorite photograph."

"I'm on _TV_," Lizzy moaned.

"_Oh_," Giana said, and Lizzy could practically hear the grin in Giana's voice. "You've been on all week, though. I don't see how you haven't—"

Lizzy gasped. "I've been on TV _all week_?"

"Uh-oh," Jane said, looking at Lydia, and both of them burst into giggles.

"Even more than I have actually," Giana replied, "and I've had reporters here trying to tail me to the bathroom. I really don't know how you missed it."

"I don't watch much TV," Lizzy grumbled defensively.

"I've heard that happens sometimes," Giana replied. "Will, for example, doesn't—"

"_Fuck_, he's seen this too, hasn't he?" Lizzy said panicking.

"Well, yes."

"_Shit_," Lizzy muttered, and Jane laughed.

"On YouTube actually," Giana said. "Maggie was pissed that he was on the internet during the press release, when they were supposed to be announcing her new position. He was very funny, though. He couldn't stop smiling, despite Maggie's glares."

"Who's that?" Jane mouthed.

"Giana," Lizzy mouthed back. To Giana, she repeated, "New position? You mean, I was _right_? B.F.D. fired your aunt and made Maggie primary manager?"

Jane made a face. "Who's Giana?"

"She did do all the work anyway." Giana paused. "You mean Will _didn't _tell you?"

"No, I was definitely bluffing," Lizzy said. She covered the mouthpiece briefly to tell Jane, "She's Will's sister."

"Damn," Giana said with a heavy sigh. "That means Fitz was right, and I owe him $30."

"You know his sister?" Jane asked startled, and when Lizzy nodded, Lydia gave Lizzy an impressed thumbs-up.

"Is _that_ why you called, Giana?" Lizzy grumbled. "To see who won a bet?"

"No, I'm doing damage control," Giana said, and Lizzy heard her taking in a deep breath. "Look, Lizzy—I rather like you."

"Well, thanks," Lizzy said, touched. "I like you a lot, too."

"And I'd like you to stick around," Giana continued. "I know Will's an idiot and probably slightly mad, but he does really care about you—"

"Wait, I'm confused," Lizzy said quickly.

"Understatement," Lydia muttered, and Lizzy threw a pillow at her.

"Has Will done something recently to deserve this speech?" Lizzy asked suspiciously, wondering if there was another press conference she missed.

"You mean, they aren't there yet?" Giana asked surprised. "They left nearly two hours ago."

"I'm still going to the grocery store," Jane told Lizzy and Lydia.

"What do you mean?" Lizzy asked Giana slowly. "Who left two hours ago?"

"Hey, can you get me more Life cereal?" Lydia asked with a wide, pleading smile.

"Fine, but Lizzy has to answer all my questions when I get back," Jane said, grinning at her twin.

"I don't see how that works, Jane," Lizzy said with a mock-glare, but with a growing grin, she added, "But it all depends on what you get _me_ at the grocery store. Ben and Jerry's sounds good."

As Lydia cheered, Giana asked, "Is that your sister?"

"Yeah," Lizzy said, smirking at Jane. "She's all smug now, because she's not the only one in the household with cameramen following her."

"No!" cried Giana. "Don't let her leave! Quick!"

"What?" Lizzy asked confused. "Why—"

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Jane turned around, chirping "I'll get it."

"Giana," Lizzy said quietly, feeling her heart stutter in her chest, "I have to go. Someone's at the door."

"Be nice!" Giana pleaded. "They're rather nervous. Especially Charlie."

There was another knock, more persistent this time, and Lizzy repeated, mouth gaping, "Charlie?"

"Coming!" Jane called, unlatching the lock--"Good luck!" Giana said and hung up before Lizzy could ask any more questions.—and Jane opened the door, smiling.


	14. The Modern Proposal

_Sorry for the cliffhanger! I tried to update as fast as I could. (Fizzie-Lizzie, I did try to get this chapter out before you went on vacation on Tuesday night, but I didn't manage to write fast enough.)_

1.

Jane opened the door, took one look at who was on the other side, and immediately slammed it shut with a furious scowl.

"_Jane_," said Lizzy, scrambling to her feet.

Jane opened her mouth to speak and closed it, jaw clenched, shaking her head. Lydia stood slowly, looking from one Bennet sister to the other anxiously.

The knock sounded again, louder this time.

"Lizzy, _no_—" Jane said, but her sister was already at the door, already opening it.

There he was, uncertain but desperate, blond hair sticking straight up like he'd been running his hand through it for hours. "Charlie?" Lizzy murmured, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking past her, over her shoulder, watching her sister back slowly away. She was glaring.

"Jane," Charlie pleaded, and Lizzy stepped out of his way.

"_No_," Jane snapped, turning and hurrying to the window, unlatching it. Trying maybe to climb outside, run down the fire escape. "I don't want to talk to you."

The window was already half-open by the time Charlie was next to her, his hands over hers. "Jane, please."

"_No_." She twisted out of his grip. She was crying now. "I _said_ I don't want to talk to you."

"I—" Charlie started, reaching for her hand, but Jane shoved him, hissing, "Stop. I said _no_."

"Jane," said Lizzy quietly, taking a worried step toward her sister, but a hand on her shoulder pressed her gently back.

It was Will, meeting Lizzy's glare with a glimmer of a smile, almost nervous. "He should try at least, don't you think?" Will said softly.

"Jane, I'm sorry," Charlie told her with wide, hopeful eyes.

"I don't care," Jane said fiercely. She took a step back, chin lowered, but Charlie followed her. "I _don't_ fucking _care_, Charlie."

"I'm sorry," Charlie repeated. "I'm so sorry."

"It's too late," Jane snapped. She hit him, on the chest, a hard thump that made Lizzy wince for him, but Charlie's gaze didn't falter. "It's too late for that."

Jane hit him again, and Charlie caught her hand. She tried her left hand, but Charlie caught that one too.

"I love you, Jane," Charlie said softly, watching her face.

"_No_," Jane said stubbornly, looking at his chin.

"I'm miserable," Charlie explained. His voice was shaking. "I'm pathetic. I bought a new cell phone so your caller ID wouldn't recognize me when I called here."

"You didn't call," Jane told him.

Charlie nodded, trying almost to smile. "To listen to your voicemail."

"That was _you_?" Lydia said, jaw dropped. When Lizzy and Will turned to her, Lydia ducked her head, muttering, " Sorry."

Jane took a deep, steadying breath, pressing her hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking as if she was trying not to sob, but she let Charlie put his arms around her. She let him push a strand of cropped red hair from her face, but she wouldn't look him in the eye.

"I haven't been happy," Charlie told Jane, "since I left."

"You _left_," Jane reminded him sadly. "You left _me_."

Charlie nodded, waiting for her to look up. "But I'm trying to come back."

Jane did look up then, still frowning, but her mouth was trembling. She got a hand to hit him again, his shoulder this time. "Do you know what I _thought_?" she asked.

"I know," Charlie said mournfully. He made no move to reclaim her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Do you have any idea how I _felt_?" Jane whispered, and somehow her arms were around Charlie's neck and she was kissing him, smiling against his mouth. They were both crying now.

There was something in Charlie's hand, sparkling. "Oh, my God," breathed Lydia. It was a ring.

Lizzy fished around the table behind her, her eyes on her sister, and Will noticed and pressed her camera into her hands. Lizzy raised the lens to her face:

Jane and Charlie in profile, the window behind them, illuminating them with the day's last light, foreheads resting against each other, both staring down at the ring Charlie held between them. _Click._

Charlie's face, hesitant but expectant, hopeful and desperate still, watching Jane's eyes widen as she realized what the ring meant. _Click_.

Jane looking up, a smile growing in her eyes; Charlie letting himself smile slowly back. _Click_.

Another kiss; Charlie was knocked to the wall, delighted. _Click_.

"Is that yes?" Charlie asked, trying to brace himself and Jane against the wall behind them.

The ring was already on Jane's finger. "You're not off the hook," she said smiling and kissed Charlie, her hands in his hair.

Lizzy snapped another picture.

"Time to go," Will said softly.

"I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you," Charlie promised, kissing Jane's nose, her eyelids.

"What?" Lizzy asked Will startled, as Lydia snatched up Jane's forgotten keys.

"Not the rest of your life," Jane murmured, turning slightly to kiss his neck. "Just until maybe Christmas."

"They need to be alone," Will explained, steering her toward the door gently with a hand on the small of her back. Lydia was already outside.

"But—" Lizzy protested, twisting just in time to snag her camera bag off the end table before she let Will propel her out the door.

2.

In the heavy October dusk, the quad was nearly empty. Will was grateful for that at least, as he, Lizzy, and her cousin strolled through it. What concerned him, though, was Lizzy, flushed and bewildered, turning back toward her apartment every few meters, looking as lost as he'd ever seen her. He wanted to tell her that her sister would be all right. He wanted to ask if _she_ was all right, but he knew that Lizzy wouldn't answer him, not truthfully, not with her younger cousin in earshot.

"When can we go back, do you think?" Lizzy asked, looking back over her shoulder for the thirtieth time.

"Well, I think they'll want longer than ten minutes," her cousin said with a small smile, but she glanced away when Lizzy glared at her.

"They'll call," Will told Lizzy, to reassure her, to make sure that she wasn't too angry to look him in the face. She only met his eyes for a brief instant before looking back toward the apartment quickly. "I have the keys," he explained.

"No…" said the cousin, pulling a clattering set from her jacket pocket, "_I_ have the keys."

Will glanced from the girl to Lizzy, asking permission to laugh, and Lizzy smiled slowly in response. "The _car_ keys," he explained.

"You drove?" the cousin asked.

"Well, Charlie couldn't. He was too nervous." Will glanced back to Lizzy again, but she had her camera to her face, pointing her lens at the trees in the middle of the quad, probably framing something to capture their long, winding branches.

The cousin was grinning now, in a way that Will mistrusted. "Where'd you park?"

"Pardon?" Will said, glancing at Lizzy again, this time for help.

"Lydia wants to see your car," Lizzy explained with a smile.

_Lydia_—the cousin's name was Lydia. "Ah," Will said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and examining Lydia for signs of depression, but the girl was beaming at him, looking up at him through her long, blonde hair coyly. Will heard Lizzy's camera click again, and when he turned back to her smiling hesitantly, he was surprised to see her lens was pointed at him. Surely, Lizzy wasn't _terribly_ angry if she wanted pictures of him.

"So what kind of car do you have?" Lydia asked.

"A BMW," Will replied. "A black one."

The girl's face fell. "Do you have like, a Playstation in the back seat or anything?"

"Of course not," Will said, annoyed.

"How boring," Lydia said, and Will turned to Lizzy again, bewildered.

"_You_ watch too much TV," Lizzy told her cousin, and Lydia rolled her eyes.

"You must watch that program," Will said, understanding suddenly. "Pimp and Drive."

Lizzy laughed. "You mean, Pimp My Ride," she corrected, and he grinned back sheepishly.

"I thought you'd have a Jaguar, at least," Lydia explained to Will. "What kind of rock star _are_ you?"

"I don't like to drive anything that would draw attention—" Will started scowling but stopped distracted when Lizzy snapped another shot of him.

"Basically, something _boring_," Lydia scoffed.

"_Unnoticeable_," Will amended miffed, as Lydia turned her back to him.

"I wouldn't mention that your version of a 'black BMW' probably cost more than all of our tuitions combined," Lizzy whispered, so close suddenly that Will froze. He saw her smirk out of the corner of his eyes. "Not unless you're willing to let Lydia take it for a test drive."

"_Now_ you talk, Lizzy," Lydia said, turning back around with a wry grin. "You've been kind of quiet."

Lizzy was still smirking. "Well, I'm a little stunned, I guess."

Lydia nodded with a heavy, dramatic sigh, walking a few more steps down the abandoned sidewalk. "Yeah, I've never seen Jane get so worked up."

"Me neither," Lizzy admitted, and when Will turned to her with a worried scowl, she smiled back reassuringly. Will relaxed a little, certain now that she wasn't too angry, not if she could smile at him that way.

"You think they'll set a date?" Lydia asked.

Lizzy's mouth curled into a slow grin, as if she was expecting a joke. "A date?" she repeated, pulling the camera up to her face again to shoot a portrait of her cousin.

"Yeah, for the wedding," Lydia replied.

"The wedding…" Lizzy repeated thinking, and then gasped. "Oh, shit—the _wedding_; they're getting married."

"Well, _yeah_," said her cousin with a mocking snort that Will suspected she'd learned from Lizzy. "That's what the ring meant."

Lizzy cupped her hands around her camera, squinting into the sunset, her long fingers splayed out on either side of the lens. "Jane's getting married," she said softly to herself.

"Probably not soon," Will assured her, in case that was what Lizzy was worried about. Lizzy turned to him again, a small, knowing smile creeping across her face. "We have to go on tour," Will explained.

"Oh," Lizzy said disappointed, and Will had to tell himself sternly that he shouldn't be so glad to see her seeming disappointed. "When?"

"'Bout a month and a half," chirped Lizzy's cousin; when Will and Lizzy turned to her, she shrugged. "I _do_ watch a lot of TV." She turned back down the sidewalk. "Long engagements are cool, though," Lydia continued, placing her feet heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe, arms stretched out as if she were on the tightrope. "They make for better weddings. Lizzy, you're going to be maid-of-honor _obviously_, and if I stay on my best behavior, I might just be a bridesmaid too. We'll have to talk her into some good patterns for the dresses, though. I refuse to wear those lavender puff balls Aunt Diana made you and Jane suffer through—"

As Lydia continued to plan Charlie's wedding for him, Will watched Lizzy sling her camera over her shoulder so that she could shake her hair out and drag her fingers through it roughly. She was probably tired, Will guessed, seeing her pull her hair back and twist it into a ponytail. Her jeans were too big for her. They slung low on her hips, leaving a gap of smooth, pale skin between the waistband and the t-shirt she was wearing. Her eyes were larger than he remembered them, and brighter, more blue than green today.

Then, she lifted her camera again and glanced up, noticing his attention with a start.

"Well?" said another voice right in front of him, and Will flinched to see Lydia so close, her blonde hair right under her nose. "What do you think?"

"About?" Will said stiffening, and it didn't calm him any to hear Lizzy snap a picture, snorting.

"Do you think Bing will write Jane a song?" Lydia asked. Her voice has changed; it rather sounded like she had a cold. "For the wedding reception?"

"What about 'Accident'?" Will suggested, taking a step backwards toward Lizzy.

Lydia followed, coming even closer than before; only a few inches away stood between them. "He can't sing _that_. It's not even appropriate anymore."

"With a little tweaking, perhaps," Will said, glancing back to Lizzy for help again, but she was trying too hard not to laugh.

Will felt a tug on his shirt and looked down to find the hands of Lizzy's cousin grasping at the cloth near his middle. "Will _you_ sing us something, Dar?" she asked.

"Me?" he replied, panicking as Lydia used her grip on his shirt to pull him closer. Surely…she _must_ know that he and Lizzy—

"After all, every girl has a secret dream," Lydia whispered, looking up at Will with such wide, pleading eyes that he was terrified she might cry, "of being _sung_ to."

Will gulped and turned back to see Lizzy laughing so hard and so silently that tears were blooming out of her eyes.

When he looked back to Lydia, she was grinning widely at her cousin. "Well, shit—I thought you'd get jealous," she told Lizzy. "Otherwise, I would've tried it sooner."

Lizzy just shook her head, still laughing.

"What—" Will started and began to scowl. "What _was_ that?"

"I think I see someone that I need to go thank," Lydia said in a sing-song, peering around Will. Across the quad was a boy about her own age smoking in front of the dorms,. "Bobby, my friend from campus patrol," she explained to Lizzy.

"_Oh_," said Lizzy brightening. "Tell him we owe him something. Like dinner maybe."

"What is going on?" Will snapped, glaring from one cousin to the other.

"Bye!" Lydia chirped and fled.

"Bobby chased the paparazzi away for us this morning," Lizzy explained, snapping an idle shot of her cousin striding across the lawn, her long blonde hair streaming behind her like a flag.

"That isn't what I meant," Will said scowling.

"Lydia was messing with your head," Lizzy told him with a sly grin.

"Ah," Will said, turning behind him to watch Lydia edge up to the smoking boy, even push the boy's arm playfully, and Will wondered irritably how the girl could flirt in her condition. "Well, she's certainly an interesting character."

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy said, so sharply that Will realized that he hadn't quite escaped her anger after all. "She has the right to pick on you a little. If it was me, you wouldn't get off nearly so easy."

Will refrained from pointing out that at the moment he wasn't getting off easy at all. He was quiet a moment, trying to gauge again exactly how upset Lizzy was.

"You told her?" he asked finally.

"Didn't have to," Lizzy said, sending him a level glare. "Wickham showed up drunk, and after proposing, he told us all himself."

Will groaned, pulling a hand over his face.

"Well, come on," Lizzy said, and she planted her feet firmly, as if she planned on throwing a hard punch if she needed to. "You're bound to have a good explanation prepared by now."

Will was silent, unable to think of anything to say, not with Lizzy waiting with that sharp scowl, afraid that he'd undo something and make Lizzy hate him again. He was almost sure that she was fond of him now; she wouldn't have wasted the effort of coming to New York if she wasn't, Wickham or no Wickham.

"That was your cue," Lizzy told him stoutly, "in case you didn't realize."

"I feel that I can't say anything now," Will said quietly.

"You have to say _something_," she told him in a low, dangerous voice.

"No, that's not what I meant—" Will started again.

"Well, you have to _try_ to explain," Lizzy informed him with a glare. "Otherwise, I won't understand—"

"I was trying to say that anything, any excuse I have probably won't hold up to your standards," he told her with as little temper as he could manage. He must have still come across badly, because Lizzy stared back at him with narrowed, defiant eyes. He sighed and tried again. "You have very high standards, Lizzy, and I'm trying to meet them."

Lizzy was quiet, regarding him with a calm, level stare. "Well, my first standard," Lizzy said slowly, "is starting."

Will watched her warily, wondering how long she'd be patient enough to hear him out.

"I _am_ listening," she assured him with a half-smile. "There's only reason I wouldn't, and that's if you tried to tell me that it's completely legitimate to pay someone $100,000 to marry their pregnant girlfriend. Especially when that someone already tried to seduce your little sister," she added. Will winced and couldn't look at Lizzy. "I really hope you didn't pay him by the way."

"No, I didn't pay him that," Will said, choosing not to mention the $2,000 he'd given Wickham in advance. Glancing over and noticing Lizzy's raised eyebrows, he swiftly added, "And I do realize that bribing someone to do what you want is unacceptable."

Lizzy snorted. "Glad someone knocked some sense into you then."

"Aunt Catherine actually," Will said with a cautious smile. "Or rather watching her try to pay you not to see me again."

"Fitz, too," Lizzy reminded him firmly, but she was blushing—Will was almost sure; it was difficult to tell in the dying light. Then, Lizzy smiled in her most dangerous way and told him, "Don't think I'll let you change the subject."

"I—" Will started and stopped again. Lizzy watched him steadily, waiting. "I believed it was what she wanted—your cousin, I mean."

"To marry Wickham?" Lizzy asked with a slight, disbelieving frown.

"Yes. To have someone there, someone to take care of her and to take care of the baby. To—" Will stopped again, knowing from the way that Lizzy was staring at the ground—arms crossed, mouth twisting—that he'd said the wrong thing. The truest thing, but still wrong.

"Well," Lizzy said slowly, her voice tight but controlled, "that's a little more infuriating that what I first guessed."

"What did you guess?" Will asked, wary of the answer.

"That you thought a bad husband was better than none," Lizzy said, "and all that shit about societal pressures."

"Yes," Will said quickly, "that too."

Lizzy glanced up at him sharply, meeting his gaze with a glare and making a noise that was half-incredulous, half-exasperated. "That doesn't make it _better_, Will. It just means that you underestimated society as much as you underestimated Lydia. Not everyone is as shallow as your aunt."

Will was silent for a moment, watching her as she ran her fingers through her hair again and realized, annoyed, that she'd tied it back. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not _me_ you should apologize to," Lizzy snapped, tugging the elastic band out so that her hair fell in waves around her face, but when she glanced at Will's face, she sighed and said, "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I know you already feel bad."

"I had to do _something_ after…seeing you off," Will explained and looked away quickly when he saw her expression begin to change, to soften. "I needed to do something, and at the time, I didn't care if it was the wrong thing. So I followed you to Boston and tracked him down. I did regret it as soon as I'd done it." Glancing back at Lizzy, assuring himself that he had her mostly calm attention, he continued, "I suppose I should have contented myself with dragging him back here. But by then…"

Will couldn't think of anything else to say. Waiting for Lizzy's response, he watched the shadows stretch under the quad's trees and glanced at the young cousin, laughing now with the smoking boy. When he heard the camera click, he looked back to Lizzy startled and found himself staring her camera lens.

"It could've been worse," Lizzy told him, almost cheerfully. "Seeing Wickham again helped Lydia get closure. And getting him arrested," Lizzy added, lowering the camera to flash a bright grin toward him through the growing dark, "that _definitely_ gave her closure."

Will smiled slowly back, _warily_ back. "That was you then, who put him in jail?"

"And how did you know that Wickham went to jail?" Lizzy asked with a curious smile.

He shrugged. "He called me for bail."

"Bastard," Lizzy muttered with a grimace. "But no, it wasn't me. Lydia was the one who actually called the police. Right after he passed out, she ran up to the apartment, dialed 911, and charged Wickham with everything she could think of. Unfortunately, by the time the police actually arrived, she'd calmed down. So the only official charges were public intoxication and disturbing the peace. I'm still very proud of her, though," Lizzy added with another bright grin.

Will smiled, hesitantly. "But it you who gave him the black eye."

Lizzy shook her head, grin widening. "That was _Jane_."

"_Jane?_"

"Yep," Lizzy chirped, pleased. "_Shocking_, I know."

Will hoped this was a sign that the conversation was relaxing. "Charlie nearly hit me the other day."

"No…Charlie? Really?" Lizzy said, eyes wide, and she _was_ shocked. "I guess they're growing up on us."

"Usually, young people grow _out_ of using violence," Will reminded her, letting himself smile.

"I meant, them graduating from pushover status. They're both too nice for their own good," Lizzy explained. "What you do to make him so mad?"

"Jane. The pic—" he started, but Lizzy had already pointed the lens back at him and was snapping another photo. "I did offer, though."

"What?" Lizzy snorted, face behind the camera. "To hit him?"

"No, to let him hit me," explained Will. "I found him after Giana's press conference and offered. He nearly took me up on it."

"I would've," Lizzy said grinning and took another picture when Will scowled.

"Charlie said that it would be harder if he didn't hit me," Will explained. "That I would feel worse."

Lizzy was still grinning. "And he was right, wasn't he?" Will grimaced and let out a short angry scowl. "I'll take that as a 'yes,'" she decided with a smirk.

Will watched her silently, as she lifted her camera and stole another picture of him. "Please stop," Will said quietly. "You're making me worry that you're planning to take revenge and sell my pictures."

Lizzy laughed, so hard that Will felt obliged to smile back. "You know, I hadn't thought of that. But it's a good idea," Lizzy told him, teasingly snapping another photograph. When Will made a face, she added, "All right, I'll stop." To reassure him further, she even unzipped her bag and tucked her camera away. "It's getting too dark out anyway. It's just…" she told Will with a thoughtful smile, "You're more photogenic today than usual."

He wondered what that meant to a photographer like Lizzy, watching her intently. Too intently perhaps, because when she noticed, she laughed again. "_Relax_, Will. I'm not angry anymore."

"You aren't?" Will asked. "Are you quite sure?"

"Well, not very angry," Lizzy amended, wrinkling her nose, but when Will sighed, she grinned. "You thought you were helping; you were just a little misguided. In another life, I—well, _we_ would've thanked you."

It occurred to Will that she was trying to comfort him, but he didn't know how to respond.

"Just so you know," she added with her usual grin, so wide that Will almost stopped noticing the dark smudges under her eyes, the extra room her body left in her clothes, "women want more these days than just somebody to take care of them and the kids. They expect more, too."

"What _do_ they want?" Will asked, his gaze so intent that Lizzy's smile changed when she saw it, more wistful than cynical.

"Well, careers for one thing," Lizzy told him, squinting across the darkening quad at her cousin's bright hair. "And love," she added, almost as an afterthought, but she glanced his way again. And when she noticed Will's attention, she continued rather hastily, "Lydia wants to be a psychiatrist. For girls. Teenagers." She was rambling. Lizzy was rambling. Will had never seen her ramble. "She's been taking child psychology courses and—"

"You're lost weight," Will said and winced when he realized how blunt that sounded.

"Okay…" Lizzy said, smiling again and bemused, as if he'd given her a strange sort of compliment. "I hadn't noticed, but I guess it's good to know why my clothes aren't fitting right—"

"I meant—" Will tried again, struggling to collect his thoughts and calming himself with a deep breath, "it seems like it's been hard here."

Lizzy shrugged again and turned away again to stare over the dark lawn. "I think it's settled down," she said thoughtfully. Following her gaze, Will noticed her cousin, only recognizable now by her bright hair; she had an arm slung around the boy's neck. Lydia plucked the cigarette out of the boy's hand and tossed it to the ground, smothering it under her foot; when the boy started to protest, Lydia kissed him. Lizzy only snorted. "Lydia's slowed down a lot actually. I bet she won't even take that one home. And Jane…." Lizzy drifted off. She was smiling, her hair brushing her cheeks, but she was looking at the ground, her arm folded over her stomach. "Jane's obviously _much_ better."

"How are _you_, Lizzy?" Will asked, trying not to be impatient.

That startled her. She turned to him quickly, mouth slightly open and eyes very wide. She looked down and away even quicker, but Will could have almost sworn that her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Lizzy—" Will said, taking a worried step forward, one hand outstretched, and Lizzy grasped that hand midair before it could reach her shoulder.

She was smiling.

"You're a good man, Mr. Darcy," she told him softly, and her eyes glittered suspiciously in the half-light.

"Lizzy, what is the _matter_?" Will asked, exasperated and worried.

"I'm all right," she assured him, smiling still in that odd way.

"No, you aren't. You aren't even acting like yourself," Will informed her, clasping her hand. "Tell me, Lizzy, what's wrong?"

She laughed, but even the laugh was shaken. "I l—" she began, but a shadow stretched toward them, saying "Ooo, am I interrupting something?"

Lizzy jumped away from the hand Will had begun to reach toward her face as they both looked quickly to their left. There was Lydia, beaming in the streetlamp's yellow light as if she knew that she was _definitely_ interrupting something.

"Don't be a brat," Lizzy told her cousin curtly. To Will, she said quietly, "I'll tell you later."

"Lizzy—" Will said impatiently, more than willing to send the little cousin back to her new boyfriend so that he could get some answers out of Lizzy.

"What's up?" Lydia asked, glancing from Lizzy to Will with a sly, cautious smile.

"Lizzy isn't feeling well," Will explained.

"_Will_," Lizzy snapped, trying to pull her hand from his, but Will held it firmly, watching her face for a reaction.

"You know," said the cousin thoughtfully, "you might just be hungry."

Lizzy only rolled her eyes, half smiling, but she let him keep her hand.

"Lizzy," said the cousin in a scolding, motherly voice, "what have you eaten today?"

Lizzy turned to her cousin, grimacing guiltily. "Life."

The cousin gasped. "So, _you're_ the one who's been nabbing my cereal."

"Sorry, Lydia," Lizzy said, almost meekly as Lydia glowered. "It's really good, though. I can see why you're addicted."

"That's all?" Will asked with concern.

"And lots of coffee," Lizzy said, which Will didn't find comforting. Lizzy made a face. "Don't look at me like that. Usually, I eat breakfast, get to working on my thesis, and look up to find out it's dinnertime already. I don't skip lunch; I just _forget_ it."

"We should eat then," Will said decisively, looking from Lizzy to her cousin.

"We should," the cousin agreed with a slight smile that reminded Will strongly of Lizzy, "but gosh, Charlie and Jane are probably busy back at the apartment. We can't eat _there_."

"Lydia," Lizzy warned.

"Is there a restaurant around here?" Will asked.

"There's a sushi place just across the street," Lydia suggested with a smile.

"Do you like sushi?" Will asked Lizzy, but she was shaking her head at her cousin and giving her a shrewd, warning glare. "What?" Will said, looking back to the cousin.

"Lydia's trying to get you to take us to one of the most expensive restaurants in the area," Lizzy explained to Will.

"Don't fuss, Lizzy," Lydia said, patting her cousin's head. "Everybody will pay for their own."

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy said, and Will was sure that she would've crossed her arms irritably if he weren't still holding her hand. "We ran out of the apartment without any cash, and you know it."

The cousin only grinned impishly.

"Do you _like_ sushi, Lizzy?" Will asked again.

"She _loves_ sushi," Lydia said in a sing-song. "Her favorite's unagi. That's eel," she explained to Will. "In case you didn't know."

"We should go, then," Will announced, and when Lydia cheered, Lizzy shot her a glare.

"I'll pay you back," Lizzy told Will.

"I don't mind—" Will began.

"_I_ do," Lizzy reminded him, meeting Will's frown with a defiant scowl. "I'll pay you back."

"So we're going?" Lydia asked, and Will looked to Lizzy for the answer.

"We're going," Lizzy sighed and smiled despite herself when Lydia cheered again. "I do really like unagi," Lizzy told Will.

"Onward ho," Lydia cried and started toward the street, her long hair swinging behind her.

Once she was out of earshot, Will mustered the courage to lean toward Lizzy and whisper, "She's rather kind, your cousin."

Lizzy rewarded him with a sidelong smirk. "You're only saying that because you was trying to take care of me," she whispered back.

"Well," Will said with a brief smile, "yes."

"Well," Lizzy replied with a bright, answering smile, "don't start singing her praises _just_ yet: Sushi 101--this place where we're going—is _also_ one of the busiest places in the area. It's bound to be really crowded on a Saturday night, so you can expect to eat your sushi with some rubbernecking and maybe a few stolen pictures."

When Will stared at Lydia in horror, Lizzy laughed and pulled her hand away a second time, and Will was so stunned he let her draw it back. "Clever, isn't she?" Lizzy said, adjusting the strap of her camera bag so that it rested higher on her shoulder.

"She is your cousin," Will replied.

Lydia was waiting just ahead of them, pressing the crosswalk button and watching the walking signal.

"Yeah, on my _mother's_ side. You should probably remember that," Lizzy advised. "Be careful, or she'll weasel retribution out of you for the rest of your life." Will felt something brush his hand and looked down, shocked, to see Lizzy threading her fingers between his. She only smiled and led him forward. "Come on. Let's go see if your press-free Vickroot deal still holds."

3.

Most of the time, you'll notice that the longer you sleep, the groggier you'll wake up, and Lizzy was no exception. The next day, she got out of bed bleary-eyed and achy all over, still in the stretch jeans and blue t-shirt she'd worn the previous day. She stumbled out in the living room, wincing as she knocked into the doorframe, and steadied herself on the back of the couch before moving on determinedly to the coffeepot.

It was still warm, and Lizzy smiled sleepily, pouring the rest in her favorite yellow mug. Glancing around for the sugar, she noticed a couple bridal magazines and frowned at them, flipping one open absently to a page that recommended ten kinds of bridal bouquets.

Then Lizzy gasped and her coffee mug slipped out of her hand, banging on the counter, brown droplets splattering everywhere. "_Shit!_" Lizzy snapped, snatching the magazines out of the way and mopping at the mess with a dishtowel.

Jane came running out of her room, frowning worriedly. "What? What happened?"

"What day is it?" Lizzy asked frantically.

"Um, Saturday," Jane said, still frowning, coming to the kitchen and grabbing paper towels to help.

"No, _yesterday_," Lizzy demanded impatiently, "what happened yesterday?"

"Well…" Jane blushed, looking down at her left hand. It was the first time Lizzy had seen the ring, and it was beautiful: a smooth platinum band with three stones, the middle one biggish and princess cut.

"Oh, good," Lizzy said with a heavy sigh of relief, grabbing the wad of paper towels Jane was holding out and catching the puddle of coffee just before it ran off the counter. When she noticed her sister still frowning at her, Lizzy explained, "I saw the magazines and I just assumed they were Charlotte's, but that would mean—"

"That the last year didn't happen?" Jane finished with a smile.

"And that we'd have yet to suffer through Charlotte and Collins' wedding," Lizzy grumbled, so darkly that Jane laughed, and Lizzy grinned too, noticing Jane's short, red hair sticking out in all directions. "But I guess the haircut kind of gave it away too."

"What's so funny?" someone said, and Lizzy jumped to hear a male voice in the apartment, wondering if Lydia had brought Campus Patrol Bobby home after all. But it was only Charlie, unshaven, blonde hair in a state similar to Jane's and beaming so wide that Lizzy's cheeks hurt just looking at him.

"Lizzy's not awake yet," Jane explained, as Charlie walked toward them. His arm went around Jane's shoulders, and her arms went around his waist. Jane's head was tucked perfectly under Charlie's chin, and Lizzy marveled sleepily at how well they fit together. Then she wondered where her camera was.

"So, how's Sleeping Beauty this morning?" Charlie asked, and it took Lizzy half a minute to figure out he was talking to her.

"Um…" said Lizzy bewildered, looking from Charlie to her sister.

"She doesn't remember?" Charlie asked Jane.

"Remember what?" Lizzy asked.

"She's kind of a heavy sleeper," Jane said, smiling fondly at her twin "I didn't know she could sleep walk though."

"Remember _what_?" Lizzy repeated irritably.

"Last night," Jane explained.

"What happened last night?" Lizzy said, suddenly worried. "I remember eating sushi with Lydia and Will, I remember walking back with Lydia and Will, and I remember sitting on the couch, watching Lydia grill Will and Charlie about their careers. After that, I guess I fell asleep."

"You _did_ fall asleep," Jane assured her sister.

"You were so cute," Charlie said grinning.

"What did I do?" Lizzy asked, already blushing.

"About eleven o'clock, we look over, and you're asleep, curled up into Will like this," Charlie said, closing his eyes, pillowing his head on Jane's shoulder, and clutching at her shirt sleeve.

Jane smiled and kissed him, and Lizzy couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep on Will _twice_.

"And when he got you up to go to bed—" Charlie said.

"Shit," Lizzy said horrified. "There's _more_?"

"Don't worry," Jane told her smiling. "You didn't let him carry you."

"Will tried to _carry me?"_

Charlie nodded, grinning widely. "But you said you could do it yourself. So, he took your hand and walked you to your room—"

"Prevented you from crashing into the doorframe," Jane added. To Charlie, she explained, "Lizzy's always hitting the doorframe."

"He gets you to bed, and you kick off your shoes and kinda fall into bed," Charlie said, "mumbling and groping for the covers. Will starts to tuck you in, and you grab him around the neck—"

"Don't make it sound like she tried to choke him," Jane chided Charlie.

"Excuse me—you _hugged_ him around the neck," Charlie corrected with a wider grin, and Lizzy groaned. "Then, when he tried to get up—he was kinda hunched over, you see, with you hanging onto his neck like a monkey," he explained to Lizzy, who stared back horrified. "Then you pulled him back down, halfway onto to the bed, and told him—_very_ firmly--'_Stay_.'"

"It's all right, Lizzy," Jane said, squeezing her sister's hand when Lizzy was too embarrassed to respond. "Will's really a nice guy. He didn't mind."

"No, he didn't mind _at all,"_ Charlie said, gracing Lizzy with a knowing grin. "In fact, he was really bummed that that he had to go back to the city."

"He's _gone_?" Lizzy said, looking from Charlie to Jane and back to Charlie again. "How come you're still—"

"Charlie didn't just switch nationalities on live television," Jane reminded Lizzy.

"He's gone to meet some lawyers," Charlie explained.

"So his Aunt Catty got involved?" Lizzy said with a scowl.

When Charlie nodded, Jane asked, "Aunt Catty?"

"Our ex-manager," Charlie explained.

"Oh," Jane said, smiling up at Charlie, and he grinned down at her. Then she told him quietly, "Hi."

"Hi," he said back, kissing her nose.

"Hi," she repeated, kissing his chin.

"You know, if you need me to hop in the shower, turn on the radio really loud or something, just let me know," Lizzy said amused, and Jane and Charlie separated reluctantly. "It's not a problem. Really."

"Actually, I need to go back to Netherfield," Charlie said, smiling at Jane. "Take care of a few things."

"What things?" Jane asked suspiciously.

"Shave, first of all," Charlie said, scratching at his whiskers and grinning ruefully.

"Good call," said Lizzy, but Jane was frowning.

"I'll be back," Charlie promised Jane softly, and she looked up at him slowly. "Hey!" he said brightening. "You can come with me."

Jane shook her head smiling and kissed him again, a distinctly _goodbye_ kiss. "You'll be fine on your own," she said and walked him to the door.

"Bye, Lizzy!" Charlie called through the doorway.

"See you later, Charlie," Lizzy called back, and Jane walked outside with him. By the time she came back, Lizzy had the Windex out and was de-coffeeing the countertop, trying not to remember all the things she hadn't told Will. She looked up smiling when she heard Jane click the door softly shut, but Jane didn't smile back.

"Lizzy," Jane said, so hesitantly that Lizzy assumed that she was in trouble somehow. Lizzy's eyes widened, and Jane crossed the room to take Lizzy's hand and reassured her. "It just—you didn't tell me that you saw Will Darcy when you went to visit Charlotte."

"Um…" Lizzy said, panicking.

"And you didn't tell me that you saw Charlie in England," Jane continued, pressing her lips together.

"No, I _did_ tell you that, or tried to, at least," Lizzy protested, picking up her stained coffee mug and setting it in the sink. "I just didn't tell you anything else."

"It was a lot of _else_," Jane pointed out.

Lizzy nodded, watching the floor before herself to look up into her sister's worried face. "I'm sorry," Lizzy whispered, but as soon as she said it, Jane smiled and hugged her.

"Poor Lizzy, you just woke up, and everybody's picking on you," Jane said giggling.

"Well, I already feel guilty about it," Lizzy muttered, picking up the coffee pot and starting to some into a fresh coffee mug.

"Don't," Jane said, kissing her sister's cheek. "I did tell you not to tell me. I just didn't expect you to listen to me."

"What _did _you expect?" Lizzy grumbled, scowling at the coffeepot when only a trickle poured out, disgustingly grainy with coffee grinds.

Jane laughed again, tousling Lizzy's hair. "I expected you to say whatever the hell you wanted, just like you always do."

"I don't just say 'whatever the hell I want'—" Lizzy started, scraping her hair out of her eyes, and thinking again of all the things she'd wanted to tell Will.

"Yes, you do," said Jane with a wide, happy smile.

"Not if I'm afraid that it'll really _hurt _somebody," Lizzy finished scowling.

Jane smiled again, slowly this time, and kissed Lizzy's forehead tenderly. "You don't always have to take care of me, Lizzy," Jane said, stroking her twin's hair.

Lizzy shrugged, eyeing the beaming bride on the cover of the splattered magazine. "Sorry I got your magazine all coffee-y," she apologized.

Jane shrugged, still smiling. (Lizzy guessed that her sister couldn't stop smiling if she tried.) "Doesn't matter. I have some more on the couch."

"I guess someone's excited for the honeymoon," Lizzy teased. "You certainly moved onto the wedding planning stage fast."

Jane rolled her eyes with a placating smile. "They're all an engagement present from Lydia."

"Oh, Lydia's out and about already?" Lizzy asked, glancing at the open door to her cousin's bedroom.

"She was gone when I woke up," Jane said with a nod, "and I found a stack of magazines next to the coffeepot with a note on top."

"A note?" Lizzy repeated, and Jane handed it to her:

_Hey, roomies!_

_I'm going home to Boston for a couple days, to check if the parental units will let me back into the house yet or not. (If not, I'll go find Daddy at his office or something.) I'll call you when I get there, but don't expect me back until October Break's over._

3_, Lydia_

_P.S. Thanks, Lizzy, for letting me borrow your car. I'll get it back in one piece, I promise._

Lizzy scanned the key rack quickly and noticed her car keys were conspicuously absent. "Brat," she muttered. "I just hope 'back in one piece' doesn't mean one _mashed up_ piece."

"I didn't realize she was planning to confront her parents," Jane said softly. Her smile had faded a little, almost worried.

"I did," Lizzy said, frowning at the note. "But I'm pretty sure she was scheduling it for Winter Break. All that forgiving Christmas spirit."

"I wonder why she moved it up," Jane said softly, using a bottle of Windex to spray over the last of the coffee spill, right along the edge of the counter.

"My guess is that she didn't want you trying to play Role Model with Charlie around," Lizzy said with a smirk. "She must really love you to get up so early, though. She normally sleeps in 'til about noon on Sundays."

"I don't think she had to get up _that_ early," Jane said, hiding another wider smile behind her hand.

"She had to get up pretty early if she wanted to steal my car keys without me catching her," Lizzy said, opening the dishwasher to put two dirty but unfortunately unused coffee mugs away.

"Lizzy, it's one in the _afternoon_," Jane told her.

"It's _one?_" Lizzy gasped, glancing toward the clock disbelievingly, and Jane laughed. "Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

"We figured you needed the sleep," said Jane, still giggling, but when Lizzy pouted, angry at herself for being so lazy, Jane added, "Go take a shower, get dressed, and everything. I'll make you some breakfast."

Lizzy nodded and moved toward the bathroom, grumbling, "I can't believe you didn't wake me up."

"Lizzy, you wouldn't have _wanted _me to wake you up," Jane called after her.

"Ugh," said Lizzy, stepping into the bathroom and stripping off her shirt. "I didn't need to hear that, Janey." But Jane only laughed again.

4.

To develop black and white film, you need to follow a series of steps: 1) unseal the film case with a bottle opener, 2) take the film out, 3) wind it onto a reel, 4) place that reel in a developing canister, and 5) then seal the canister shut so that you can treat it with developing solutions. You'll repeat steps 1 - 4, of course, if you're trying to develop several reels at once. The only trick is that the film will be ruined if exposed to light. Which means that you'll have to do all of the above while fumbling in complete and absolute dark.

This is what Lizzy did—just after she took her shower and got herself dressed, after she sat down at the kitchen table and obediently ate the oatmeal Jane gave her, after Charlie came back (freshly shaven) and took her sister away.

The lights were out. The door was locked. The reels were stacked in front of her. The bottle opener was in her right hand, and the first film canister was in her left.

She opened it; the vacuum inside popped obligingly, and the metal top dropped the floor with a slight ping. She sniffed and brushed the back of her hand across her eyes.

"Lizzy," questioned a voice behind her, "what are you doing?"

"_Will_?" she gasped, turning toward his voice and nearly dropping the bottle opener.

He took a step towards her, feeling along the sink to guide his way in the dark. "Yes?"

"What—" Lizzy sputtered, trying to process this, trying to figure out if she'd lost her mind completely. Will grinned, wishing he could see her expression. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I came to see you," he replied, smiling in the dark. "'See' being a relative term, of course."

"How did you get in here?" Lizzy asked, bewildered, sure that there had always been someone in the living room, almost positive that he couldn't have just appeared.

"Your sister let me in, and Charlie snuck me in here when your back was turned at the sink," Will explained, stopping when he knew he was close, close enough to smell the shampoo in her wet hair. "I didn't, however, expect you to walk right past me and snap off the lights."

"Sorry. I didn't even know you were coming back," she said, sniffing again and scraping her hair out of her face, and Will got another whiff of her shampoo. She resisted the same urge that she'd had to resist the day before: to reach out a hand and see if he was solid. "Um…how are you?"

"Fine," he said, leaning against the counter, hearing another _pop_ and _ping_ from the film canister. "Seriously, though: what _are_ you doing? And do you really have to do it in the dark?"

"I'm developing the film from yesterday," Lizzy said, sniffing again, "and if it's not dark, I'll ruin the film."

"Lizzy," Will said, concerned when she sniffed a fourth time just before he heard another _pop_ and _ping_, "are you crying?"

"No," she replied stubbornly, but her voice shook. "I'm just being stupid."

"You're not stupid," Will said gently, wanting to reach a hand toward her face to feel if her cheeks were wet. But he didn't, worried that in the dark, he would only manage to poke her in the eye or worse, graze a breast. (That would definitely get him kicked out, film exposure or no, probably with sexual harassment charges to boot.) "Even Fitz agrees that you're not stupid."

Lizzy smiled despite herself, using the palm of her hand to wipe another tear away. "I _am_ being stupid. I'm happy for Jane. And Charlie. I'm happy for both of them."

"Good," Will replied hesitantly. "I am, too," he added and winced, thinking of Rosings. "For my part."

"I know they'll be happy together, very happy; it's just—" Lizzy said and stopped, and for a moment, the only thing Will heard was the sound of film rustling.

"Lizzy," he said, wondering what was wrong, wondering if he could manage to hug her despite the dark.

"It just occurred to me that it's going to be like when Charlotte left," Lizzy said softly, picking up the first reel.

Will made a face and remembered that Lizzy couldn't see it. "It isn't _quite_ going to be the same."

"No, it'll be worse," Lizzy interrupted, picking out a strand of film and beginning to wind it onto the reel, careful not to make bumps and bends in the film. "I'm not sure you'll understand—"

"I'll try," Will promised, just so she knew.

"I _know_, Will; don't try so hard that you end up forgetting to let me talk," Lizzy said irritably, and Will half-smiled (silently), hoping that this was an improvement from crying. "You might not understand, because you have Pemberley. Home for you has always been a _place_." She slid the first finished reel into the developing canister and moved onto the second. "But me and Jane, we've always been together. Even when I moved out of the house and went to New York, I went to _Jane_ when I wanted a break, not back to where I grew up."

"Oh," replied Will, understanding, "but they really won't be married for a while. They won't even be able to live together yet. We'll start rehearsing for the tour in the next couple months, and the tour itself will last for another six or seven, depending on how Maggie feels. You'll have another year, at least."

"It's not just that she's getting married," Lizzy said and sighed. "She'll be starting her internship soon. And if I manage to get my thesis done, I'll be graduating and moving out at the end of the semester." The second reel dropped into the canister with a tiny click, and Lizzy picked up the third. "I just know our lives are changing."

"Not for the worse," Will said gently. "Not necessarily."

"I know," Lizzy replied, and Will was almost sure that she was smiling. She sighed again and placed the last reel into the developing canister. "That's why I'm being stupid."

"So, you're writing your thesis?" Will asked when Lizzy was silent for too long.

She was screwing on the canister's top and groping for the developing solution. "Finished the rough draft last month."

"What's it on?" Will asked, hearing another _pop_ as Lizzy found the bottle of the developing solution and opened it.

Pouring the solution in the canister, Lizzy grimaced and rolled her eyes at herself when she realized that Will couldn't see her. "You don't want to know."

"If I hadn't wanted to know, Lizzy," Will asked, smiling, remembering what Lizzy had told his aunt, "I wouldn't have asked."

"The culture of celebrity worship," said Lizzy, pressing the timer she'd preset and scraping her hair from her face.

"Your hair smells good," Will said before he could stop himself and gulped nervously when he sensed Lizzy turn towards him.

"Thanks," Lizzy replied. She was laughing, and Will was grateful. "It's my shampoo; I just took a shower."

Will didn't know what to say. He knew he was blushing like a schoolboy, but it was still dark at least; Lizzy couldn't see.

"Where are you?" Lizzy asked. She was shaking a little, but Will couldn't know that.

"Here," Will said and risked reaching a hand out, managing to find her shoulder with a minimum of fumbling, grasping it gingerly just below the curve of her neck.

"Good," she said decisively, and Will felt her hand on top of his, felt it sliding up his arm and then across his torso. The other hand followed, and Will forgot to breathe. He noticed that she was trembling and opened his mouth to reassure her, but Lizzy was already memorizing his shape, letting her hands travel up his chest, slide up his neck, and rest then on either side of his face.

Lizzy took at deep breath and went for it.

Will felt her lips at the corner of her mouth and turned toward the kiss automatically, but she was gone. "Lizzy…" Will murmured, wondering if she was teasing him.

"Oops," Lizzy said, and Will stayed very still, his head between her hands. "Missed," she explained and tried again.

He was ready this time, had a hand cupping her face before she'd gotten his mouth open, and then, they were kissing, finally kissing, one of his hands in her hair and the other at the nape of her neck. Hers traveled, roaming down his back, up his arms, and around his waist and then holding, tight, like she was staking a claim.

Then, one of her arms lifted off, and Will didn't notice much until he felt something clang behind him.

He flinched, breaking the kiss. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"Agitating," Lizzy explained breathless, and when she felt Will draw away, she realized he thought she was talking about him. "Bubbles. In the film canister. I shook it so they wouldn't ruin—"

"I understand," Will said, and his breath caught in his throat when he felt her lips traveled down his neck. "Multi-tasking."

"You're not complaining," Lizzy murmured, and he could hear her grin in her voice.

"No, I'm not—" he started, but Lizzy was already kissing him again, her hands gripping his back. His hands slid through her still damp hair; it was so soft he almost felt like he was doing something wrong. When he felt her arm leave him again and heard another sharp clang, he laughed against her mouth and felt her laugh too.

"How many times are you going to do that?" he asked and trailed kisses across her jaw.

She stifled a moan as his lips worked right below her ear and replied, as calmly as she could, "Every minute. Just about."

He laughed again, quietly, just next to her ear. "Counting, are you?"

Lizzy shook her head, and he began kissing her temple, her eyelids, her nose--brief, fleeting touches. "Guessing," she said and captured his mouth again.

When the timer went off, she tried to ignore it, she was _going_ to ignore it, but Will fumbled behind him and swiped the film canister off the counter, pressing it into her hands. "Need this?" he asked.

"Yes," she sighed and pouted, turning to pour the developing solution into the sink.

Will fumbled along the counter until he found the still beeping timer. "Can I turn this off?"

"Sure," said Lizzy distractedly, pouring fix into the canister.

"No, I meant _how_," Will said irritably, glaring in the direction of his hands as it beeped at him. "_How_ do you turn the bloody thing off?"

"Don't break it," Lizzy said quietly, and she reached between his hands and pressed a button on the top of the timer. It was silent in the darkroom, except for their breathing, huskier than normal. "It's safe now. We can turn on the lights," she added, stretching an arm across the sink toward the switch but stopped when she felt Will's hand around her forearm.

"I'm not ready for lights just yet," he told her softly. "We're having too much fun in the dark."

She laughed, imagining his expression, and kissed him underneath his chin. He moaned softly and returned the favor, trailing his lips down her neck until she gasped and hooked her hand around the back of his neck for another kiss, a long one, so tender that Lizzy was afraid that she was going to cry again.

He broke the kiss when a thought occurred to him suddenly. Unperturbed, Lizzy redirected her attention back to his jaw, traveling toward his ear. "Lizzy, when Jane and Charlie get married, you could move to Pemberley," Will suggested, and Lizzy's lips stopped just before his earlobe.

"No, I couldn't," she said softly and kissed him again, and even distracted, Will was almost sure that she was just trying to end the conversation. Returning her kisses eagerly, he fished a small, velvet box out of his pocket and opened it. "I'm serious, Lizzy," Will told her, and he could feel her pouting as he caught her hand and placed it on top of the open box. "Pemberley could be your home."

Impatient to get back to their previous activities, Lizzy frowned, feeling something under her fingers, something smooth and metallic on either side, with a slightly prickly bump in the middle. "Will…" she began questioningly and reached back across the sink to turn on the lights. She hit the wrong ones, the red ones, but even in the red light, Lizzy could see Will's smiling, expectant face and recognize the object he was holding in his hands.

"Are you _crazy_?" Lizzy snapped, glaring at the ring in his hands, open-mouthed.

Will blinked a couple times and smiled. "I don't believe so, no."

"You _know_ what a commitment phobe I am, and you still think it's a good idea to pull _that_ out," Lizzy said, staring at the ring in fascinated horror.

"Well, Charlie and I—" Will started, still grinning.

"Charlie?" Lizzy repeated, eyes narrowed. "Jane and I are completely different people, Will. Just because _she_ decided to get married doesn't mean—"

Will had pulled the ring from its box and had taken her left hand in his, preparing to slide it on her finger, and Lizzy snatched her hand back.

"I can't _accept_ that, Will," Lizzy said, glaring at him.

"Why not? I'm almost sure it's your size," Will told her, reaching for her hand again, but Lizzy pulled it away and hid both hands behind her back. "All your chemicals won't hurt it; I asked—"

"_You're_ missing the point; I can't…" Lizzy stopped, took a second to take a deep breath and whisper, "…do that."

"Do what? Marry me?" Will asked, almost laughing.

"Yeah, that," Lizzy said, hands behind her back, scowling at the ring so hard that Will did laugh, and her scowl turned to him. "I'm _serious_, Will. I can't get married yet; I'm only twenty-one years old."

"But your birthday's next week," Will reminded her, smiling when Lizzy's mouth dropped open again. "Charlie told me," he explained.

"You aren't listening to me, Will," Lizzy growled. "I can't marry you. I can't live with you at Pemberley. I need to go to New York. I have apprenticeship offers coming in; I'm calling galleries. I love you, Will, but I have things I need to—"

"You _what_?"

"You heard me," Lizzy said, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

"No, Lizzy," Will said, serious now. "I need to hear you say it."

"I love you," Lizzy repeated, as she stared at him, answering his growing smile with a bewildered frown. "You didn't know?"

"No," Will said with a short laugh, "I can't read your mind."

Lizzy felt like this wasn't the time to tell him that her mind had nothing to do with it, not with Will beaming at her like that, the lines of his face softened in the red light. "Wasn't it obvious?" she asked instead. "I thought between your conference, yesterday's sleepwalking, my _photographs_—"

Will glanced around, noticed the photos hanging on the walls, noticing his own face looking back at him several times over. "Dear God," he said, startled. "You have quite a few pictures of me, don't you?"

"—and the _kissing_," Lizzy continued, feeling herself beginning to blush and very glad suddenly for the red light, "it should've been obvious."

"It wasn't," Will informed her, the smile growing on his face again, so wide that Lizzy knew that she was really blushing now. "Say it again."

"I love you," Lizzy said distractedly, letting Will slide his arms around her waist, the ring hooked around his own little finger, but she gasped just before Will managed to land another kiss. "_This_ is what Giana was talking about."

"Giana?" Will asked. "Giana called you? You mean she ruined the surprise?"

Lizzy snorted. "No, she did _not_ ruin the surprise," she said. She was smiling now; she couldn't help it and Will knew it. "She called it Damage Control."

"Brat," Will muttered, bending down to kiss her again, pausing an inch away from her mouth. "Again?"

"I love you," Lizzy said and smirked. "I can't believe you asked me to marry you before you knew how I felt. You _are_ completely insane."

"Not completely," Will replied mock-pouting, almost pulling it off except for his eyes, wide and very happy. "If I were, they wouldn't let me _buy_ the ring."

Lizzy laughed and kissed him again, her hands traveling from his chest to around his neck, his fingers tracing her spine. She grumbled when Will broke the kiss _again._ "Once more," he said grinning, and when she pouted, he added, "Please."

"Will—" she started scowling, going up on tiptoes to try and reach his mouth.

He leaned away, grinning wider. "Here, we'll practice. Now I say, I love you, and _you_ say…" He waited, and Lizzy stared at him incredulously. "Lizzy, you're missing your cue."

"How 'bout this?" Lizzy offered, beginning to smirk, pulling him closer. "You kiss me now, and I'll leave it on a message on your voice mail so you can listen to it any time you want."

Will kissed her, but when Lizzy giggled triumphantly against his mouth, he broke the kiss again.

"_Will_—" Lizzy protested, on the verge of losing her temper.

"I'm going to hold you to that, you—" Will said, but that was all he managed, because Lizzy impatiently grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him back into the kiss.

(Fix, if you didn't know, has no time requirements, which--considering current distractions—was a very good thing.)

5.

Some things are unavoidable. Meals, for instance, will always come no matter what happens in your life, and someone will need to make them. Because Lizzy didn't feel like eating another dinner at some restaurant where some of her classmates and a lot of strangers stared at them, she entered the kitchen at about five o'clock and took Will with her, setting him up next to her cutting carrots.

"I rather like this," Will told Lizzy, as he chopped. From her own cutting board, surrounded by bell peppers, cucumbers, and celery, Lizzy smirked: his carrots were in giant, uneven chunks. "It's quite homey."

Lizzy snorted, and Will turned to her, grinning over his shoulder. "What? Is it my apron?" he asked, looking down at the green apron he was wearing, one that read _If you like the food, _I'll_ kiss the cook_. "Do I look ridiculous?"

"No, you look cute," she assured him, and Will beamed. "But come on, Will: two hours as a couple and we've already started playing house. I can't tell if that's a good sign or bad."

Will put the knife down, grabbed Lizzy around the waist, and kissed her. Firmly.

"Okay, I'm convinced," she decided grinning. "_Good_ sign."

Grinning, Will let her go and went back to his carrots. "So we're a couple now?"

Lizzy looked up from the cucumber she was slicing, glaring over at Will. "Well, I _assume_ so. But," she added, with as much dignity as she could muster, "you're free to walk out that door and never come back. Just know that I'll have to track you down and kick your ass."

"No, by all means," Will said, bending down again to kiss her briefly. "I'm just making sure. I seem to never know where we are in our relationship. Proposing, for instance, seems not to have been as brilliant an idea as I originally planned—"

"Definitely _not_," Lizzy agreed, so emphatically that Will scowled. "But I love you," she added, and he smiled again.

"So, I'll just ask you from now on," Will told her. "To make sure."

"Which means basically that I'm calling the shots," Lizzy said smirking, and when Will paused in his chopping endeavors to think that through and scowl, she kissed him smiling.

"Oh, my God."

Lizzy jumped away from Will and noticed her sister staring at her, her red brows raised high. Grinning, Charlie walked up behind and tossed his keys on the kitchen table before wrapping an arm around Jane's shoulder.

"Um, hi," Lizzy said blushing. She glanced up at Will, who only rolled his eyes smirking, so Lizzy looked back to her gaping sister. "I didn't hear you come in."

Charlie couldn't decide who to grin at, Lizzy or Will, his gaze jumping from one to the other. "I don't believe it."

"I _know_," Jane said, leaning into Charlie. "Lizzy and _Will?_"

"No, not that," Charlie said, pointing at his bandmate. "Will in an apron."

Will looked down and brushed away a sliver of carrot from his front. "I think I look rather fetching."

"Aww," said Lizzy grinning. "You say words like fetching."

"This is too weird," Jane said. Her mouth was still open. "I need to sit down."

"Ooo," said Lizzy brightening, "do you want coffee?"

Will made a face. "Don't make coffee."

"Why not? It's only 5:15; it's not that late," said Lizzy. "And I haven't had any yet."

"I don't like the taste of coffee," Will explained.

"Well, _you_ don't have to drink it," she pointed out, but Will was smirking at her so pointedly that Lizzy blushed and Charlie started to laugh.

"Okay, I really do need to sit down," Jane said, pulling a chair out from under the kitchen table and dropping into it. Charlie stroked her hair comfortingly.

"Well, I guess that's the first thing that has to change," Lizzy said, opening the cabinet and pulling out a box of pasta before reaching for something on the top shelf.

"You'll give up coffee for me?" Will said eagerly.

"No," said Lizzy, jumping to grab what she wanted and dropping it on the counter. It was the coffee. "You're going to get addicted like me, and we won't have this problem."

Charlie laughed again, and Will turned to him, glaring. "I like this," Charlie told Will. "It's going to be entertaining."

"When did this _happen_?" Jane asked, her mouth still open.

"I don't know," Lizzy said, shrugging before she poured the coffee beans into the grinder. "Sometime in England."

"I understand," Will said with a wide grin. "You love me for my house."

"_No_, I love you for how much _you_ love your house," Lizzy corrected. "And your sister," she added as an afterthought, kissing his chin, probably because it was closest.

"And you," he reminded her, and she smiled and started grinding the coffee.

"Can I borrow your phone, Jane?" Charlie asked, and when Jane nodded distractedly, Charlie picked the cordless phone off the receiver and strolled to the window across the room, dialing.

"You really had no idea?" Lizzy asked her sister, straining to reach the coffee filters on the top shelf.

"No," said Jane frowning, "I had no idea."

Will took pity on Lizzy and took a filter from the highest shelf so that he could hand it to her.

"Thanks," said Lizzy smiling, and Will nodded and returned to his carrots.

"Yes, you did," Lizzy said. "You were teasing me in the car coming back from Boston—"

"Well, I knew he liked _you_," Jane said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Charlie was still there. Leaning against the windowsill and talking into the phone, Charlie winked back at her, and Jane smiled.

"Did you really?" asked Will surprised.

"Oh, yeah," Jane said, pressing her lips together and nodding. "Even though you ignored me the rest of the time, you always paid attention every time I brought Lizzy up, and you kept _staring_ at her at Netherfield—"

"Ha! I knew it," Lizzy said smirking and poured water into the coffeemaker.

"So, Charlie told you?" Will asked Jane.

Jane frowned again, thinking. "No…oh, wait—yeah, he did."

Will nodded, pleased with himself; Lizzy rolled her eyes affectionately and turned on the coffeepot. "But Lizzy," continued Jane, "I thought you _hated _him."

"I didn't hate him," said Lizzy with a pout.

"No," Will reminded her grimly, pausing mid-chop, "you _did_ hate me."

"I didn't hate _you_," Lizzy insisted, slicing some more cucumbers. "I hated who I thought you were. There's a difference."

"Now you aren't making sense, love," Will said smiling.

"No, actually I understand now," Jane admitted with a small smile, coming to the kitchen and pulling a large pot out from under the sink.

"_See_," Lizzy said smugly. "You just don't speak my language."

"Yet. I'm learning," Will promised.

"Hey, Will," said Charlie, getting up from the windowsill, phone at his ear. "Fitz says he needs confirmation."

"That's Fitz on the phone?" Lizzy asked, making room for her sister as Jane put a pot of water on the stovetop to boil. "Tell him hi for me."

"Fitz, Lizzy says hi," Charlie said into the phone as he crossed the room.

"Fitz is the other band member, right?" Jane asked her sister softly, and Lizzy nodded.

"What _kind_ of confirmation?" Will asked, putting the knife down on the cutting board, eyes narrowed.

"For the betting," Charlie explained, grinning widely when Jane put her arms around his waist.

Will scowled. "Fitz started a pool?" Charlie nodded. "_Again_?"

"A pool? On what?" Lizzy asked, and Will opened his mouth to answer but thought better of it.

"He didn't believe me when I told him that Lizzy didn't just run off," Charlie said, holding the phone out to Will.

Lizzy snatched it before Will could, snapping into the receiver, "You started a pool? On_ us_?"

"_Oh, hi Lizzy_," Fitz replied. _"How are you? And no, the pool's not on us; it's on you and Will."_

"You can't start a pool on me and Will," Lizzy growled, and Will snorted softly and resumed chopping. Jane let Charlie go with a sigh and took over her sister's cutting board.

"_I beg to differ_," Fitz said politely. _"Now I have a few questions if you don't mind: First, did Will propose or not?"_

"What kind of question is that?" Lizzy snapped.

"_I'll take that as a yes_," Fitz decided.

"But I didn't answer," Lizzy protested.

"_Yeah, but if he hadn't already mentioned marriage, you would've flipped out when I did," _Fitz pointed out, and Lizzy couldn't argue with that. _"Next question: have you had sex yet?"_

Lizzy's mouth dropped open.

"What are we having?" Charlie asked, snagging a carrot chunk from Will's chopping board.

"Lizzy called it pasta salad," Will told him, "and don't touch my carrots."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and reached for one of Jane's cucumbers instead. "I'll make you leave the kitchen," his fiance threatened.

"_Lizzy? Hello?"_ Fitz asked.

"You can't ask me that!" Lizzy hissed.

"What'd he ask you?" Will said, and Lizzy blushed and didn't answer.

"_Well, that's a no, then_," said Fitz, _"and thank you: Maggie owes me fifty bucks."_

"Fitz!" Lizzy snapped.

"I wouldn't want to be Fitz when Lizzy sees him next," Charlie said grinning, and Jane giggled.

"Getting angry won't help," Will told Lizzy, tidying up a carrot pile. "It won't change him; Fitz just likes to gamble."

"That's because he _always _wins," Charlie pointed out.

"_Moving on then,"_ Fitz continued. _"Any hickies?"_

"What the fuck?" Lizzy said. "Absolutely not. How old do you think we are? Fourteen?"

"_Come on, Lizzy. You have to check for me_."

"I do _not_ have to check for you, Fitz," Lizzy snapped.

"Check what?" Will asked.

Lizzy held the phone away from her mouth and told him grimly, "He wants to know if I have any hickies."

"You do," Jane told her with a hesitant smile. "I noticed when I walked it."

Lizzy's mouth fell open. "_Will_," she scolded, and Will blushed.

"_All right!" _Fitz cheered. "_Like I said, just like teenagers. Giana owes me. Now can you count them for me?"_

"Count them?" Lizzy repeated, horrified.

"Looks like two from here," Jane said, angling her head to see.

"TWO?" Lizzy growled, turning to Will, and he drew back, worried she might hit him.

"_Got it. Now how many does Will have?"_

Lizzy lurched and dragged Will toward her by his apron, pulling his collar down until she noticed a series of three small red marks. "Ha! Three! I win!" Lizzy said triumphantly, and Will laughed and kissed her.

Since Lizzy seemed sufficiently preoccupied, Charlie took the phone from her hand and told Fitz, "Will is in an apron. Did we have a pool going for that?"

Jane giggled and turned her attention back to the pasta salad.

"Yeah," said Charlie into the phone and paused to listen to Fitz. "Okay. Right. Yeah, see you later, Fitz."

"Mind if I borrow that?" Will asked, taking the phone after Charlie hung up.

Lizzy seemed unwilling to let him discontinue his previous activities and pulled him back into a kiss. So, Will dialed without looking and then pressed the phone to her ear.

"Who?" Lizzy asked him frowning, as it rang.

Will pulled his ringing cell phone out of his pocket. "Me."

"Is your ringtone really 'Fire and Ice'?" Jane asked.

"Shh," Charlie said grinning, a finger over his lips. "Will doesn't like to get teased about it."

Lizzy paused listening, still holding Will's hand over the phone. "It's your voicemail," she informed him.

"Again," Will said smiling, and Lizzy laughed. She waited a few more seconds and then said, "Will. It's Lizzy. I love you."

"Oh, come now," Will complained. "I don't believe that for a second. Do I have to give you a reminder? Even the score, perhaps?" Will asked, bending toward her neck.

Lizzy laughed and pushed him away. "I _love_ you," she said into the mouthpiece, beaming.

"I love you, too," Will replied and hung up for her.

Jane gasped, hands over her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked her.

"They_ love_ each other," Jane said.

"Aww, but I think that's sweet," Charlie said teasingly.

"No, it's not a bad thing," Jane agreed and took a deep, steadying breath. "I was just…surprised."

"Hey, the coffee's ready," Lizzy chirped.

"No," Will said scowling, as Lizzy took her favorite yellow mug from the dishwasher.

"Uh-huh," Lizzy said, picking up the coffeepot and pouring it ceremoniously, as her twin sister stared incredulously.

"Don't drink that," Will told her.

"I hope you like sugar," Lizzy said in a sing-song, as she spooned some into her mug and stirred it.

Charlie laughed, and Jane looked up at her fiancé, eyes wide.

"I'm serious, Lizzy," Will said, watching Lizzy lift the mug to her mouth.

"I heard you," she replied and took a sip.

"That's it," Will said sighing. "You can't kiss me now."

Lizzy took another gulp and asked grinning, "Wanna bet?"

"You wouldn't…" Will started, backing away slowly.

"You shouldn't have said that," Charlie informed him. "You've only encouraged her."

"What if I have a severe allergy or something?" Will asked, backing slowly out of the kitchen.

"You don't," Lizzy said, swallowing a final gulp and putting her mug down. "You would've mentioned it."

Will ran, and when Lizzy chased him, even Jane was laughing. She caught him in the living room, tackled him so that they both fell on the sofa, Lizzy pinning him underneath her and Will trying to grapple with her.

"_No_," Will said again, but he was grinning.

"Don't be a wuss," Lizzy replied and kissed him, thoroughly.

Jane shook her head smiling. "Our lives are going to be insane from now on, aren't they?" she asked Charlie.

"Probably," Charlie said with a shrug and a smile and kissed her cheek.

When Lizzy let them stop and breathe, she was smirking, and Will was laughing so hard they both shook with it. "Marry me," Will told her finally.

Jane gasped, hands over her mouth again, and Charlie grumbled, "Copycat."

"I _told_ you," Lizzy said and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm not getting married."

"Ever?" Will asked, pretending to be heartbroken.

Lizzy considered for a moment. "I didn't say that…" she murmured, and Will laughed and kissed her again.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: That's it! Well, kind of. That's all that I initially planned to write when I first outlined this story. So I went ahead and changed the status of this fic to 'complete,' but I _am_ planning on writing an epilogue now. I'll just be charting into a storyline that wasn't even remotely in Jane Austen's original novel, so those of you readers who really loyal to the original book probably shouldn't read past this chapter. (To give you a hint about the epilogue and its readability, almost everybody is going on the B.F.D. annual ski trip. It'll be set over a year after this chapter to sketch out what the rest of Lizzy and Will's life together will be like.) The epilogue will probably take me maybe a month to write and update, unless I split it into two parts._

_And I'd really like to thank everybody who reviewed. I'm really glad you guys enjoy this story so much. (I'm having fun writing it too, which is one of the main reasons why I decided to write an epilogue.)_

_Also, some of you asked about B.F.D.'s songs and if I wrote them or not. The only ones I actually wrote are "You Told Me" and "Accident." For the other ones, I took a poem I really liked and rearranged the verses until they sounded more like song lyrics. I sort of made up tunes to go with them and sometimes sing them to myself, but I'm really not a musician. _

_Thanks again for reading, everybody! Have a good summer!_


	15. Day One: The Arrival

_Author's Note:_ _I'm back! I know this seems like a pitifully short update after such a long time, but don't get upset—there will be a total of five updates, one for every day of the vacation. And most of them are longer than this one. _

_Also, I know Will's supposed to hate coffee. But it's been over a year since he and Lizzy started going out, and a lot has changed. Plus, I'll explain how Lizzy got addicted to coffee in the next update. _

1.

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy _hated_ airports. Of course, he _had_ done his best to disguise himself with mirror-lensed sunglasses and a Vickroot University cap that Lizzy had once lent him. But he still knew that at some point, someone was going to ask for his autograph, a question that was sure to attract a great deal of attention, which would then force Will to escape with a well-timed trip to the men's restroom. To make matters worse, the airport was crowded, but that was to be expected. It was bound to be crowded three days before Christmas.

Will would have, of course, preferred another mode of transportation, _any _other mode of transportation for that matter. He had, however, managed to piss Maggie off recently (he'd never thought skipping a phone conference with their recording label would be such a blunder), and since Maggie was the one who organized all of the B.F.D.'s trips, there Will was—in the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, on the second stopover on his trip from England to Montana.

There was only one part of this trip that would make it worthwhile, and she wasn't answering her cell phone. He'd left three messages on her answering machines, and he still hadn't heard back. Granted, he'd been in flight for fifteen of the last eighteen hours, but it wasn't as if Lizzy couldn't leave word on _his_ voicemail.

Then, just as Will decided to risk standing in line at the food court for lunch, his phone rang. He answered it irritably, "'Lo?"

"_Hey."_ It was Lizzy. Of course, it was Lizzy. _"What's wrong?"_

"Why didn't you bloody well call me back?" he asked, noticing right in front of a Chickfila checkout a couple teenage girls eyeing him and suddenly deciding that he wasn't so hungry after all.

Lizzy snorted. _"Well, I missed you too. It's so nice to hear your voice_."

Will sighed heavily and turned away from the food court and toward the C concourse. "I'm sorry. It's just—I'm in the airport."

"_Poor baby_," Lizzy teased as Will stepped onto a moving sidewalk. _"Did they detain you at Customs again?"_

"No," Will said, leaning against the rubbing railway briefly and adjusting the phone against his ear. "But I'm already tired of airplanes and crowds, and I have another three hours before I make it to my destination."

"_Bummer_."

Will sighed. He didn't know anyone but Lizzy who could say "Bummer" and sound both compassionate and mocking at the same time.

"_Knowing you, you're probably trying to play incognito and are the _only_ man in sunglasses and a hat in the entire terminal_." Will scowled, uncertain as to how Lizzy knew him so well. _"You've probably managed to look even more famous by carrying a very expensive guitar on your back_."

"I can't help it," Will told her, adjusting the guitar case on his shoulder self-consciously. "Maggie wants four new songs by the New Year."

Lizzy laughed so hard that even Will had to smile. _"To answer your question, I lost my phone charger somewhere during that Alaskan shoot. I went ahead and bought a new one, but I couldn't check my messages for a few days while my battery was dead."_

"You shouldn't do that," Will told her, stepping off the moving sidewalk. "What if something happened? What if—"

"_Wow. First you bite my head off, and now I get a phone lecture. Maybe I should hang up while I still can."_

"Don't," Will said quickly. The last time Lizzy said something like this and Will had scoffed at it, she'd actually hung up and left Will gaping at the phone. "I need to tell you something."

"_Okay…?"_

"You need to check your mail," Will said, stopping to let a family of six pass in front of him, the children linking hands in a four person train.

"_Which mail?"_ Lizzy asked. Will heard an intercom announcement in the background, and he wondered where she was. _"Snail mail or email?"_

"Email," Will replied. He could almost hear the sounds of her purse rustling, probably as she pulled out her Palm Pilot to check.

"_Uh-oh._"

"What?" Will asked, noticing suddenly that he was in the D concourse, and wondering how he'd managed it.

"_Can you tell me what I'm looking for?_" she asked hopefully.

"It's a surprise," he explained briefly, glancing above him for signs back to the C concourse.

"_Well, Aunt Diana put me on the Keefe-Moore employee mailing list again, so my Inbox is full of about eighty memos_," Lizzy replied. _"It'd really help if I knew what I was looking for."_

Will grimaced, then noticed a giant "C" and an arrow pointing left, and promptly headed left. "It should be an itinerary. Forwarded from Maggie."

"_Flight itinerary? Am I going somewhere?"_

"Bozeman," Will said. "Montana. For the ski trip."

"_What ski trip?"_

"We're renting a cabin with my sister, your sister, Charlie, Fitz, Maggie, and Zarine," Will explained, beginning to smile. (This was, after all, the surprise.) "And possibly one of Giana's friends if she got around to inviting someone."

"_Well, it's news to me,_" Lizzy reminded him.

"We always go at Christmas. Remember we invited you last year? You wanted to go to your father's wedding instead."

"_Hey_," Lizzy protested, _"I was _also_ moving out of my apartment.—Bingo! Found it. I'm pulling it up." _Will waited. "_Shit_."

"What? What's the matter?" Will asked. He was in the C's by now, but he couldn't remember which number gate he was supposed to find.

"_The ticket's for tomorrow," _Lizzy informed him. "_From Laguardia_."

"I know. I told Maggie to book it that way," Will said, glancing over the half dozen television screens showing the departing flights and noticed that he was supposed to be at gate C13. "Is that a problem?"

"_Yeah. For one thing, I'm not in New York_," Lizzy said. _"I'm traveling. I had a job."_

Will froze. "But it's _Christmas_, Lizzy. How can you bloody well work during Christmas?"

"_It's not Christmas yet,"_ she told him curtly. _"And don't yell over the phone_."

"Bloody hell," Will muttered glancing around. He was in the twenties, over ten gates away from where he needed to be. Not that it mattered much, now that Lizzy wasn't coming.

"_Don't give me that shit, Will_," Lizzy snapped back. _"You can't just send me a plane ticket and expect me to get on it. I have a schedule too, you know."_

"Yes," Will murmured, quickly striding past an older couple strolling along ahead of him. He noticed, with annoyance, their wedding rings glinting in their linked hands.

"_Surprises don't work with us_," she reminded him. _"We found that out when I came to surprise you for your birthday, and I just sat around because you were stuck rehearsing for the MTV Music Awards all day."_

"Yes," Will replied, passing gate C17 with another sigh. "You're right, of course. Quite stupid of me, actually."

It was quiet between them for a long moment. All Will heard on the other end was the thud of Lizzy laying her hand over the mouthpiece and the sound of her voice whispering to somebody else. She seemed suddenly _much_ farther away.

"_You have definitely been back to England_," she said finally. _"Your accent's really strong now."_

Will couldn't think of a response except to smile briefly, which he realized belatedly that Lizzy couldn't see.

"_Will?"_ she asked hesitantly.

"I wanted to spend Christmas with you," he told her, walking on. "I would have brought Giana home to Pemberley if I'd know that you weren't coming."

"_Who said anything about not coming?"_ She was laughing. _"This itinerary just needs tweaking, that's all."_

"Oh," Will said, brightening considerably. Then he noticed he'd reached gate C9. How had he missed 13? "Oh, shit."

"_Wow,"_ Lizzy snorted. _"That's the fastest mood swing I've heard in a while."_

"Lizzy, listen: can I call you back?" he asked, turning around to glance down back the way he came. He spotted a sign for C12 and C14, even C11, but not C13. "I'm having a bit of trouble locating my gate."

Lizzy laughed again. _"Look left."_

Will glanced automatically to his left, and there it was: Gate C13—with service to Bozeman, MT at 3:14 PM. "How did you—" he began to ask Lizzy, but he heard her phone click off and then felt someone grab him from behind.

He froze, immediately thinking crazed and perhaps stalker-like fan—until he noticed that one of the hands at his stomach was sporting the engagement ring he'd convinced his girlfriend to wear, even if was only on the wrong hand.

"_Lizzy?"_ he asked incredulously and turned around just in time to catch her laughing at him.

"I am _so_ sneaky," she informed him with a wide, smug grin, her arms still around his waist.

"You said you weren't coming!" he said, pressing a delighted kiss to her brow.

"_No_, I said that I was traveling, that I couldn't make the flight you picked, and that your itinerary needed to be changed," Lizzy reminded him with the same smug grin. "You are _extremely_ lucky to have a manager who knows her stuff. She called me in October to get all this worked out."

"And you didn't tell me," Will complained, but he was smiling.

"I wanted to surprise you," Lizzy replied slyly.

Her hair had fallen into her eyes, and Will brushed it back and kissed her. "Well, very often you don't even need to try."

Lizzy beamed and then told him in a voice that was as stern as she could make it, "I did have something scheduled, though. I just barely had time to change it in time so that Maggie could get me on your flight."

"I must say, I am rather fond of Maggie right now," Will told her, returning his phone to his pocket.

"And not me?" Lizzy asked smirking and taking his hand.

"That rather goes without saying," Will asked and would have kissed her again, except for the fact that she was drinking from a quite large cup of coffee. He snorted. "I see I wasn't your first stop."

"Want some?" Lizzy asked, offering it to him.

Will took it warily, as they started toward the grey seats around gate C13. "It isn't a mocha, is it?" he asked, remembering the coffee drink she handed to him in August. It was so syrupy that Will felt like he was scraping a film of sugar off the roof of his mouth for days.

Lizzy laughed. "No, just a latte."

Will risked taking a very small sip and immediately made a face. "You _sweetened _it," he complained.

"Sorry," Lizzy said blandly, taking the cup back. "I didn't think one little packet of sugar would bother you."

"Where is it?" Will asked.

"What? The coffee?" she asked, frowning at him. "Right here."

"No, Starbucks," Will replied, glancing around. "I could use an expresso. I've been up most of the night."

"About ten gates back that way," Lizzy said, using her thumb to point behind her toward C1. "Wanna go?"

"No," said Will, unslinging his guitar and collapsing into the nearest seat. "I'd rather not walk so far."

"Do you want me to go get it for you?" Lizzy asked, pulling her wallet out and setting her satchel at Will's feet and dropping her camera bag next to it. "If you watch my stuff, it won't take me but ten minutes."

Slouching so that his head leaned against the back of the seat, Will shook his head smiling. "Stay," he told her, and she smiled back, taking a seat directly opposite him.

Will frowned. "You're much too far away."

"I thought it'd cut back on the PDA," Lizzy told him.

"PDA?" Will repeated frowning.

"You don't have PDA back in England?" Lizzy asked with a wide smirk. "Stands for Public Displays of Affection. Standard Middle School lingo."

Will looked at her sharply, rolled his eyes before picking himself and his guitar up so that he could sit beside her. "I'm all right with PDA," Will informed her and proceeded to nuzzle her neck.

"I think the photographer that was following you like PDA too," Lizzy commented, nodding over at the adjacent gate.

Will glanced over, and a young man in jeans and a hoodie quickly redirected his lens someplace else. "Damn," Will said, pulling himself to a sitting position. "I'll go talk to him."

Lizzy caught his arm smiling before he managed to stand up. "Don't bother. I explained to him that I'm planning to write a piece on the paparazzi—since you and I have so much experience. And while he was trailing you, I got almost a whole roll of _him_. He knows that if he tries to publish a picture of _you_, I'll find a way to work _him_ into my article."

Will paused to work this out in his sleep-deprived brain. "So, when I was on the phone with you, that man was following _me_ and you were following us both _and _taking pictures _and_ talking to me at the same time?"

Lizzy graced him with a smug answering nod. "Multi-tasking."

"Brilliant," Will said, slouching again so that he could rest his head on her shoulder.

"Yep," said Lizzy proudly, slouching slightly so that she could rest her head on top of his. "I bet you wish that all your other girlfriends were as smart as me. Maybe then there'd be that many less pictures of you on the internet."

"What other girlfriends?" Will asked. "You're the only woman I've found who'll tolerate me."

"Yep," Lizzy chirped again, kissing the top of his head, "and don't you forget it."

"What was it?" Will asked after a moment.

"What was what?" Lizzy asked laughing. "Did you already forget the thing I just told you not to forget?"

"What was the job you had to reschedule to come?" Will said patiently, grabbing her right hand and inspecting the ring on her third fingers. He was rather proud of himself. He'd made a good choice, even Lizzy admitted it: a platinum band with curly etchings on either side of a modest, if blue, diamond.

What Lizzy didn't know (and Will wouldn't tell her yet), but he had already bought the wedding rings that matched it. They were back at Pemberley.

"A promotional calendar shoot," Lizzy replied.

"A bit late for that, isn't it?" Will asked. "Only eleven days until the New Year."

"It's one of those eighteen month ones. It starts in July," Lizzy replied.

"So you've got to take eighteen shots of those tacky, topless women?" Will teased. "Preferably on top of cars or some other nonsense?"

Lizzy snickered. "No. There will be eighteen shots and women will be in all of them, but breasts won't be pictured."

Will frowned, wondering if it was one of those artistic calendars, where they showed only the backs of individuals, a gesture toward anonymity.

"Most of my models have had mastectomies," Lizzy explained. "The calendars will be sold for breast cancer research."

"Non-profit? Again?" Will said startled. He knew she had enough offers coming in so that she could pick and choose which jobs she took, but he couldn't understand why she most often took the ones that did pay. "They are paying _you_ though?"

"Yeah," Lizzy said, shrugging just enough so that his head slipped a little on her shoulder, and he had to readjust it. "Not much though."

"Don't be such a starving artist," Will scolded. "You make us millionaire celebrities look terribly shallow."

Will felt Lizzy smile into his hair as she traced the guitar callouses on his fingertips. "So Maggie's pushing you to write the fourth album already? That didn't take long. You only finished the _Accidents_ tour about three months ago, right?"

"Three months and a half," Will corrected. "And yes, she wants us recording in March. April at the latest."

"Slavedriver," Lizzy said with a sympathetic smile.

"If Aunt Catherine was still our manager," Will said quietly, "we would be recording _next _month."

"Hmm," Lizzy replied, lazily prodding his guitar case with one extended finger. "I still can't believe that you tried to disguise yourself with _this_."

"What do you mean?"

"Only a professional musician would carry an instrument around an airport," Lizzy said.

"That isn't true," Will said.

"Yes, it is."

"Plenty of other people carry guitars through the airport," Will said firmly.

"Should I call you on your bullshit now or later?" Lizzy replied.

"Look," said Will, pointing to a young man, in his twenties, about two and a half gates away. His black guitar case rose about a foot above his head. "There's someone now."

Lizzy snorted. "Will, you need glasses."

"What? No, I do _not_ need glasses."

"Will, that's _Charlie_," Lizzy told him.

Will squinted at the approaching figure. "It is not. Maggie would've told me if Charlie and I were sharing a flight."

"Wanna bet?" Lizzy asked smirking.

"Sure," said Will, still watching the figure—who was definitely not Charlie—approach. "Name your terms."

The approaching, guitar-clad figure seemed to be of medium build and terrible posture.

"Backrub," Lizzy demanded, sticking out her right hand.

"Back massage," Will replied, shaking it.

Hand still linked, the couple waited. When the man was only a gate away and recognizably blond, Lizzy turned to watch Will smirking, and a second later, Charlie noticed them and waved.

"You should start reading Maggie's memos," Lizzy told Will, waving back, "and I'm totally holding you to that backrub."

Will scowled, as Charlie stepped smiling out of the way of a young mother and two twin toddlers before threading his way toward them.

"Hey, Charlie," Lizzy said smiling. "How was the flight from Boston?"

"Fine. A little turbulence at takeoff but not bad," Charlie replied, unhooking the guitar from his back. Then he noticed the glare Will was giving him. "What's with him?"

"Sore loser," Lizzy explained, pleased with herself, and Charlie nodded, taking a seat next to his bandmate.

"I do _not_ need glasses," Will grumbled.

"Okay," said Charlie with a brief smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Cheer up, Will. If you're play nice on the flight, I'll still give you that massage," Lizzy offered with a grin, which did serve to brighten Will's mood considerably.

2.

Almost everybody knows, or at least suspects, that older brothers tend to develop a severe dislike of their younger sisters' boyfriends. Most younger sisters hope that this is only a stereotype. When Fitz brought Giana and her boyfriend Jimmy to the Bozeman airport to pick the others up, however, it became very clear that Will didn't just dislike Jimmy. He _hated_ him. On principle. He expressed this hate with such a harsh glowering glare in poor Jimmy's direction that even Fitz couldn't think of anything to say. It probably didn't help that Will had squeezed his way into the middle seat, right between Giana and Jimmy. The only one who seemed immune to Will's terrible mood was Lizzy, sitting in the passenger seat next to Fitz, her lens pressed against the window as she snapped pictures of the scenery.

"It's so _pretty_ here," she said excitedly, framing another shot, of the snowy valley dotted with homes, and the huge tree-strewn mountain range behind it.

Then silence reigned in the car again, except for the occasional _click_ of Lizzy's camera. Will continued to glare at Jimmy. Jimmy continued to look out the window, as far away from Will as possible in a large SUV.

Giana made the next attempt at conversation. "Charlie," she said, turning around in her seat to look at Charlie, cramped in the back with luggage on either side. "Where's Jane? I thought she was coming."

"She's coming. She had a few more things to take care of in Boston," Charlie explained with a slight smile, "but she's flying in tomorrow."

"What sort of things?" Giana asked.

"Um…" Charlie replied, glancing at Will.

Will continued glaring at Jimmy.

"Jane's starting her internship next month," Lizzy explained, framing a shot that tried to take in the height of the looming mountain next to the road and the frozen river beside it. "At some big deal allergy-asthma clinic that I can't remember the name of. She's under the top guy in the area."

"That's nice," Giana said with a small smile toward Lizzy, and silence took over the car again.

Fitz tried next. "Me and Mags took set-up duty yesterday," he said, grinning into the rearview mirror, trying to catch Will's eye, "so we get first dibs on the guest cottage."

"We're staying someplace with a guest cottage?" Lizzy asked, noticing from the white crosses edging the road, wondering if she'd ever manage to get a shot of them with the car winding around the bends at fifty miles an hour or more. "I thought Maggie told me it was a log cabin."

"It _is_ a log cabin," Giana said slowly, "but—"

"Obviously you've never seen the Yellowstone Society's version of a log cabin," Fitz said with a grin.

"What do you mean?" Lizzy said, prying her lens from the window to pay attention.

"You'll see when we get there," Fitz said with a smile that worried Lizzy.

"What's so great about the guest cottage then?" Lizzy asked suspiciously. "Gold toilets or something?"

"Privacy," Fitz said with another grin, "for any and all of our favorite activities."

Giana giggled. "Maggie told _me_ that you guys are in the guest cottage, because Zarine still doesn't always sleep through the night and Maggie doesn't want her to wake anyone else up."

Fitz hunched over the steering wheel, scowling. "That, too."

Lizzy grinned and turned her camera back to the window, trying to figure out a way to capture the white snow under the dark trees and the blue-white ice in the river.

"Mags also said to tell you she'd have dinner ready tonight," Fitz added, shoulders still slumped toward the steering wheel in a pout, "but dinner duty's a rotation. Giana, you get tomorrow."

"_Me?"_ Giana protested. "What did I do?"

"You hurt my feelings," Fitz said, settling back into his seat smugly.

Lizzy snorted. "She did not."

Fitz shrugged. "Give me a minute. I'll think of something."

"Well, you're only punishing yourself," Giana grumbled, folding her arms. "My cooking's quite terrible. Even Auntie Cindy says so."

"I'll help you," Jimmy said, turning briefly away from the window. It was the first thing he'd said since "nice to meet you" after Giana introduced him to Will.

Will took the opportunity to re-establish the status of his dislike and glared viciously at Jimmy, and Giana looked between her brother and her boyfriend worriedly.

"Hurrah for Jimmy!" said Lizzy, her face pressed to her lens, at the craggy stones peeking out from a snowy cliff. "Giana's cooking really is shit—I know from experience. We should all get down on our knees and thank Jimmy from the bottom of our hearts." When no one responded, Lizzy looked up from her camera and glanced over at the driver, who was busy concentrating on the road as they came to a sharp bend, well-marked with bright yellow and black arrows. "I was serious, you know. We might even go ahead and award him sainthood for saving our tastebuds." When the car was still silent, Lizzy turned to look in the back, straining to look around her seat, and noticed Will glaring at poor Jimmy and Jimmy staring back with resigned patience. "Okay," Lizzy asked, "what's the problem, boys?"

Giana grimaced and explained, "Will."

Will turned his glare from Jimmy to his sister.

"Okay, Will—what's _your_ problem?" Lizzy asked exasperatedly. "You _told_ Giana she could bring a friend."

"He's said that every Christmas actually," Giana said quietly, edging way from Will's scowl and pressing herself against the door behind her. "This is the first time I've managed to invite someone."

"You couldn't before, though," Charlie pointed out, reaching over Giana's seat to pat her on the shoulder comfortingly. "Since we were all trying to keep the Darcy-Darlington secret and all."

"I might've last year," Giana replied. "Perhaps that has quite a bit to—"

"You know," Fitz said, drumming his index fingers on the steering wheel as the road straightened out, "I'm pretty sure it's 'cause you brought your boyfriend, Giana."

Giana scowled, and Fitz shrugged, grinning at her through the rearview mirror and adding, "Just a guess."

Giana leaned forward, reached over the seat in front of her, and swatted at her cousin's red crest.

Fitz jumped, and the car swerved slightly, luckily just toward a nearby turnout. "Oww! Watch it! I'm driving here. Your lives are in your hands, you should remember that."

"Is that it?" Lizzy asked Will, but he didn't answer. He only continued to scowl, and his gaze had returned to Jimmys.

"You're being ridiculous," Lizzy informed him matter-of-factly. "You can't seriously expect Giana to be the only one on the trip without her significant other."

"Besides, Zarine," Fitz reminded Lizzy. "And the Bingley sisters. Louisa's divorce just went through."

"Ugh—they're not staying with us, are they?" Lizzy asked, turning back just long enough to wrinkle her nose.

"There wasn't room," Charlie said sadly, untucking his arm from beneath the luggage next to him and stretching over the seat behind him. "They're staying at the lodge."

"Closer to the spa," Fitz explained to Lizzy with a knowing grin, and Lizzy grinned back.

"What I can't understand," Will said with a scowl, "is how I didn't know that Giana was dating anyone at all."

"Well, that's Giana's fault," Lizzy said.

"Lizzy!" Giana complained.

"It wasn't _Jimmy's_ responsibility to tell _your_ brother that you two were going out," Lizzy reminded Giana, and Giana sulked.

"I also don't understand how Lizzy managed to meet your boyfriend before I did," Will asked his sister.

"That's because I've made more trips to visit Giana at NYU than you have," Lizzy told him smugly. "Since _I_ live in New York, and _you_ live at Pemberley."

Will didn't feel the need to respond to this.

So Lizzy glanced back to him and grinned. "Now, you're pouting. _Cute_."

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?" Will accused.

"Uh-oh," said Fitz, glancing over at Lizzy's face, her eyes narrowed to slits, her jaw set. "Okay, kiddo," he told her, as he slowed the Suburban down beside a small shopping center and a gas station and turned up a narrower road, one that wound up the mountain with a nice steep drop-off on the passenger's side. "We're kind of entering the dangerous, icy curves section of the drive, so if you could postpone your ass-kicking until we exit the vehicle."

Lizzy continued to glare at Will.

"But you know, no pressure. I just thought it'd be nice to survive the drive," Fitz said off-handedly. "Zarine might miss me. Mags, too."

Will dropped Lizzy's glare to glance at Fitz, a little worriedly.

"Fine," said Lizzy with a snort. "Just let me know."

For the next three minutes of the trip, Lizzy and Will stayed exactly where they were, only moving when Fitz hugged a curve and their bodies swayed with the momentum. Lizzy gripped the side of her seat with both hands to stop her movement. Will pressed himself hard into the back of the seat. Giana giggled nervously once, but Charlie stopped her with his hand on her head, saying "I wouldn't. You'll only make it worse."

"Just about a minute more," Fitz announced, as he turned onto a small road with tire tracks beaten gray into the snow. "This is the driveway."

"The house is rather pretty," Giana told Charlie as the car went through the trees. "_Much_ prettier than last year. Maggie found a good one. It's mostly logs, but it has _three_ stone chimneys. There's the front porch—we really can't spend time on now, much too cold—but it also has these huge windows that face right up the mountain. It's absolutely beautiful; it's—"

"Right there," Fitz said, pointing with both hands still stuck to the top of the steering wheel, and even Lizzy turned to look.

"It's huge!" Lizzy said, groping for her camera again and framing a shot of the sprawling log cabin, its windows glinting gold against the sunset, its porch stone and wide.

"Didn't I mention that?" Giana asked, frowning thoughtfully.

"No," Jimmy replied with a slight grin, which Will promptly rewarded with another glare.

"Fitz, could you maybe drive a little smoother?" Lizzy asked, her face at the lens. "You're ruining all the shots."

"How 'bout I brake, and you get out and walk?" Fitz replied as the vehicle bumped along the end of the drive. "Would that help?"

"Just get us there," Charlie pleaded. "I can't feel my legs."

Lizzy turned back around, mouth open. "I _offered_ you the front seat, Charlie."

"But kiddo," Fitz said, braking beside the front steps and putting the car in park, "Charlie always has to be the gentleman. He wouldn't sleep well at night knowing he took a seat from a lady."

Giana was already out of the car and running up the snowy front steps, her green puffy jacket open and flapping behind her. "We're here!" she shouted, beating on the front door.

Jimmy made his discreet exit on the Suburban's other side, and Lizzy tumbled out too, adjusting her lens.

"Lizzy, you can kick Will's ass now," Fitz offered hopefully, unbuckling his seatbelt as the wind helped the cold creep inside the vehicle.

"In a minute," Lizzy replied, backing up and taking shots of the house.

"Aww," complained Fitz, grinning at Will as they both climbed out of the car. "I was looking forward to that."

"Fitz, you—" Will started darkly.

"Will, you need to take five deep breaths before you finish that sentence," said another voice from the top of the steps.

"Hey, Maggie!" Lizzy said waving.

"Lizzy," Maggie replied with a smile and a nod. "How was your flight? Will didn't ruin it, did he?"

Will's mouth opened to answer, his breath coming out in an angry white puff in the cold, but Lizzy only said, "No, he basically slept the whole time."

"Why is it that everyone seems to think it's all right to tease me when Lizzy's around?" Will complained scowling.

Lizzy shrugged, snapping pictures and grinning. "I have that effect on people."

"It's a gift," Fitz assured her, opening the back hatch.

"Lizzy, which one's your bag?" asked Jimmy, leaning around the side of the suburban to look at her. "I'll take it inside for you."

Lizzy shook her head grinning. "I'll get it, thanks. It's got a whole bunch of unwrapped Christmas presents in there, and Giana'll weasel it out of you." She glanced slyly at Will where he stood, leaning against the car and zipping up his jacket, and she added, "You could take the guitars inside; it's not good for them to stay out in the cold."

"Real smart, Lizzy," Fitz said, heaving Charlie's duffle from the trunk. "Making the poor kid touch Will's guitar. You know how much he hates that."

To prove it, Will glowered, and Jimmy hesitated. Fitz only grabbed another smaller suitcase and headed inside.

"Go ahead," Lizzy told Jimmy. "And _you_," she told Will, catching his arm, just in case, "chill out. He's doing you a favor."

"That's my livelihood—" Will started with a glare.

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy snapped. "It's a guitar, and it's not even your favorite one."

Will scowled. Jimmy retreated, a guitar case in either hand.

"I don't like him," Will said, just as the boy entered the cabin with both suitcases.

"Really?" Lizzy replied, looping her camera strap around her neck and grabbing hold of her giant suitcase, its leather scratched and discolored. "I hadn't noticed."

"I don't understand what Giana bloody sees in him," Will said, rubbing his eyes. But now that everyone else was gone, Lizzy noticed that Will relaxed a little, just enough so that his shoulders slumped and his mouth drooped a little with exhaustion. "He hasn't got any personality at all."

"You can't expect him to be real talkative with you breathing down his neck all the time," Lizzy said, struggling with her ancient suitcase.

Will grabbed the handle with a sigh, lifted it, and set it between them in the snow. "How did _you_ meet that boy?"

"He has a name, Will. You should use it," Lizzy said sternly.

"Jimmy then," Will said, glancing at the house again and squinting against the glare of the windows.

"Giana and I ran into him when I visited her last month," Lizzy explained. "I didn't _tell_ you, because Giana said she'd handle it. Obviously, she's being a wuss about the whole thing, but—" Lizzy shrugged and started dragging her suitcase toward the steps.

"I still don't like him," said Will, pulling the last duffle out, his own.

Lizzy stopped, looked back at Will with a slight, thoughtful frown. "He's not Wickham," she told him quietly. "He's a good kid, and he'd do anything in the world for Giana. Even brave her pissy brother for Christmas," Lizzy added with another grin.

Will sighed, looking at the tracks in the snow, and Lizzy noticed the dark smudges under his eyes. Then he heaved his duffle over his shoulder, so that he could help Lizzy with hers.

"Thanks," Lizzy said, after he brought it up the steps, kissing him swiftly. "And just so you know," she added as she hauled it toward the door, "You're not allowed to ruin this vacation for everyone else. So cut it out," she told him firmly.

Will nodded with a tired smile. "All right."

"Good answer. Don't worry; I'll handle everyone else for now," Lizzy promised and entered the cabin.

The fireplace was the first thing she noticed, standing in the middle of the back wall like an slate and stone altar, built all the way up to a ceiling at least three times taller than the one back at Lizzy's apartment. In front of it was a sitting area, a huge red rug and coffeetable with two sofas and three armchairs, all overstuffed and covered with the same shade of light brown leather. To the left, there was the kitchen, with red and brown granite surfaces, wooden cabinets, and copper pans hanging from the ceiling—all of it polished and sparkling. A carpeted staircase lead up to the second floor just behind it. To the right of the room, there were two wooden doors, about twenty feet apart, and just in front of them was a giant window, a stone guest cottage in the backyard and the mountain peak looming above it.

"Wow—nice place, Maggie," Lizzy said. "Look," she added, pointing at the piano in front of the window, "it even has a Baby Grand."

Over at the stove in an apron, a wooden spoon in her hand, Maggie beamed.

"Anything else?" asked Jimmy, backing away from the door so that Will could enter.

Will didn't glare. This time, he didn't even glance toward Jimmy.

"No, we got it," Lizzy replied. "Thanks, Jimmy."

"I'm going to unpack," Jimmy said and disappeared into one of the two doors at the right of the living room.

"Look, Zarine!" said Fitz from the floor, where he and the baby were rolling a ball around the red rug. At the sound of her name, Zarine looked at her father and then looked where he was pointing, toward his cousin. "Will got out of timeout."

Will dropped his bag from his shoulder, leaned against the kitchen counter, and declined to comment.

"Okay, everybody but _especially_ Fitz," Lizzy said, sitting on her suitcase, arms crossed, eyes fierce. "Lay off Will. He's been traveling for way too long for anyone to give him anymore shit."

Fitz raised his eyebrows and watched Zarine bend down and pick up the ball. Maggie bent over the stovetop, fighting a smirk.

"You know, do you even want to eat?" Lizzy asked him. "Or sleep? If I were you, I'd just want to go to bed."

"Bed," Will agreed, picking up his bag again.

"Never mind, Zarine," Fitz said, taking the ball that his daughter was handing to him. "Will's being sent to bed without supper."

"Drop it," Lizzy snapped.

"Ooo, now I've made the bossy Mother Hen mad," Fitz told Zarine.

"_Fitz_," Lizzy warned.

"Cut it out, Fitz," Maggie said sharply, "or I really will send you to bed without dinner."

Fitz sulked but was quiet. Zarine reached up to his face with little fingers, grabbed his pouting lower lip, and laughed.

Will turned to Maggie, eyes half closed and sleepy. "You and Lizzy are on the left," she told him, pointing with her wooden spoon, stained red with spaghetti sauce. "Next to Giana and Jimmy."

Lizzy winced, as Will's eyes snapped open very wide. "_What_?"

"It's _fine_," Maggie told him, stirring the sputtering spaghetti. "Their room has twin beds and everything."

"No, it's bloody well _not_ fine," Will said, striding across the living room quickly, side-stepping leather couches and side-tables. "Absolutely not."

"Will…" Lizzy started but winced again when Will threw open the door on the right side so quickly that it smashed into the wall behind it. The two college students inside it jumped, staring at the man in the doorway.

"Don't mess up the house, Will," Maggie said warningly. "The damage fees suck."

"You," Will said, pointing at his sister. Giana froze, then leaned slightly back, eyes wide. "Out. Take your bag. You're staying with Lizzy."

"Booo," Lizzy said pouting, getting up and dragging her suitcase across the living room.

"Wha? _Will_," Giana protested. She held a dark red turtleneck in her hands.

"Don't argue," Will said, throwing his duffle on the nearest bed.

Jimmy watched the bed bounce under the duffle's weight and then turned to Giana.

Giana changed tactics. "_Lizzy._"

"Don't look at me," Lizzy replied. "If you wanted this trip to go smoothly, you should've started prepping Will as soon as you'd invited Jimmy."

Giana scowled and started throwing her clothes back in her suitcase, muttering "I am an _adult_, if you lot don't remember. I don't need to _take_ this shit from other _adults_."

Jimmy watched her stomp out with her duffle in her arms. Lizzy felt for him, but he seemed mostly resigned.

"Sorry, Jimmy," Lizzy said. To Giana, she offered, "My advice is to let him sleep off some of his crankiness, and then make your case in the morning."

"I _can_ still hear you," Will informed her through the open doorway, stripping off his jacket and tossing it in a corner.

"I don't want to talk to you, Lizzy," Giana sniffed. "You didn't even try." With that, she stomped into the room next to her previous one and slammed the door.

"Are you staying or going?" Will asked his new roommate impatiently. "Because I'm going to sleep."

Jimmy took two quick steps and escaped to the living room, and then Will slammed _his_ door.

"They definitely managed to inherit a lot of the same genes," commented Lizzy, leaving her suitcase next to her bedroom door and deciding to give Giana a little time to herself.

"You're never going to act like that, are you, Zarine?" Fitz asked, stroking his daughter's hair.

"Just you wait," Maggie told her husband. "If she's anything like me, her teen years are going to be hell for us."

"She didn't mean it," Jimmy said quietly, and Lizzy turned to him surprised. "Giana, I mean."

Lizzy smiled; it was almost a smirk. "Will doesn't mean it either. He just doesn't know it yet."

After Jimmy made an effort to smile back, she called into the kitchen, "You need help in there?"

"You want to set the table?" Maggie asked, as both Jimmy and Lizzy stood up. "I think the plates are there," Maggie added, pointing to the cabinet on the right of the sink, "and the silverware's underneath."

Charlie appeared then, trotting down the stairs, his hair wet but clean, a towel around his neck. "I heard yelling," he said worriedly. "What happened?"

"Vacation," Fitz answered, leaning away as Zarine climbed into his lap and started tugging at the collar of his shirt. "With the Darcys."


	16. Day Two: Settling In

_Author's Note: This section could probably use some tweaking still, especially the middle of 4 and the end of 6, but I'm ready to move on to the next part. I would really appreciate any suggestions you might have, though. Also, about this epilogue, I intended it to only be one chapter, but then I started writing it. It got pretty long, so I'm splitting it up into five sections, one for every day of the vacation. So, here's the second bit._

Epilogue—Day Two

Part 2 out of 5

3.

Lizzy woke up at 6:32 AM to the sound of light snoring, stifled a groan so that she didn't wake Giana, and tried to go back to sleep. The bed was extremely soft, and it was soothingly warm underneath the down comforter. It should've been easy. But whenever she closed her eyes, her dream came back to her. And there was that nagging urge to go to the bathroom. When she heard the twang of a guitar outside in the living room (she couldn't tell if it was Will's or Charlie's), she sighed and got up carefully.

It was Will—she found out as soon as she opened the door—sitting on the couch, his guitar in his lap, his dark hair up in peaks. When he turned around, smiling, Lizzy could see he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue plaid pajamas bottoms, and she was glad she hadn't changed out of her own PJ's. He reached up and drew her down over the back of the couch for a kiss, his hand buried in her hair, and she was _very_ glad she brushed her teeth when she visited her bedroom's bathroom.

She smiled when Will pressed his forehead to hers. "You feel better, I can tell," she said, pecking a kiss lightly on his nose and coming around the couch to sit next to him.

"I made coffee," he offered, moving papers and books and extra picks to a nearby ottoman to clear a place for Lizzy.

"I'll get some later," she said, her feet on the cushion between them, her knees under her chin. She couldn't keep the smile off her face, but there wasn't any need to really, not with Will sending her half-shy smiling glances. "How long have you been up?"

"4:50," Will replied.

"Bummer," Lizzy sympathized with a grimace.

He shrugged. "The time change has me a bit off. I was awake to say goodbye to Charlie, though."

"Where'd he go?" Lizzy asked, moving away Will's coffee cup (it was cold) to peer over some papers. They were print-outs of poems—the Brownings mostly, and a John Clare that Lizzy's never heard of.

"To pick up Jane," Will replied.

Lizzy looked up frowning. "I thought her flight didn't get in until eleven."

Will grinned. "I think Charlie was excited to see her."

"Hmm," said Lizzy thoughtfully, picking up one of the books off the ottoman, the slimmest one. _"Twenty love poems and a Song of Despair_?"

"Pablo Neruda," Will explained.

"Yep, I can read that too," Lizzy said with another grin, and Will grinned back sheepishly. "You going for love now, or despair?"

"Love, at the moment," Will said with the kind of intense dark-eyed look that always seemed to make Lizzy blush.

She opened the book in front of her face to hide it, flipping through pages. "So you want to make a song out of one of these?"

"I was going to try. Number V," he explained, nodding at the book.

Lizzy found it. "'So That You Can Hear Me'?"

Will nodded, strumming through a series of chords lazily. "Maggie's not so sure about it. She thinks we'll be criticized for trying to use a Latin-American poet."

Lizzy snorted, curling her hands around the book and frowning. "You're already attacked for sticking to English and American canonical writers," she reminded him. "You're never going to make everyone happy, so do what you want."

"I thought you might say that," Will said with a shy grin.

Lizzy smirked and glanced over the poem and the translation next to it. "Should these lines worry me? '_You are to blame for this cruel sport'_? And _'Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish'_?"

"You should pay more attention to the part that goes _'my words become stained with your love, You occupy everything_,' he answered, leaning over his guitar to make a few notes on a blank sheet of paper in front of him. "I want to settle that as the refrain."

"'_I watch my words from a long way off./They are more yours than mine today," _Lizzy murmured, thoughtfully glancing over the poem again. "You know," she said, looking up at Will, "if you wanted to incorporate the original, you could get Charlie to echo you in Spanish. But it'd make a good song. You're going to have shorten the lines and maybe rearrange them. And you'll need to find a better translation, though. Parts of this are a little clunky."

"I have others here somewhere," Will said, leaning over his guitar and shuffling through some papers, his pick held tight between his knuckles. "If you want to read them through—"

"What?" Lizzy teased with a slow smile. "You mean you're going to let me help you?"

"Of course," Will said, blinking in surprise and handing her three loose papers. "What did you think you were doing?"

"Making pre-coffee conversation," Lizzy replied as she took the papers he was offering her, but they both knew she was pleased, despite herself.

She bent over the printouts to read, and Will asked quietly, "Lizzy?"

"Hmm?" she replied without looking up.

"What did you think of the song I wrote for you?"

When Lizzy looked up, she was grinning. "Why? Are you writing me another song I should know about?"

"It's rather safe to assume that all the love song I write from this point forward are yours," Will said with that dark-eyed gaze, even a small smile.

Lizzy watched him for a long moment, a smile creeping around her own mouth. Then she shifted, traveling over the cushion, sitting on her ankles so that she could kiss him, her hand cupping the nape of his neck. "Good answer," she told him softly, resettling beside him, far enough to give him room to maneuver his guitar but still close enough to touch.

"You _didn't_ answer," he said as he returned his gaze to his guitar and his notes and she resumed reading the Neruda translations.

"Sure, I have. Every time you've asked me," Lizzy replied, grinning down at the papers in her hand.

"Not in London," Will reminded her.

"Every time since," Lizzy said and then added with a wider grin, "And you've managed to ask me at least once a month for the past year.—As far as these translations go, would it be a major problem to pick and choose stanzas from each so that you can piece together your own version?"

"If you didn't want me to ask you more than once," Will said with an embarrassed scowl, "you shouldn't have answered me differently each time."

Lizzy raised her chin and regarded him levelly, almost thoughtfully, if her smile hadn't been full of mischief. "Let's see," she said slowly. "Did I tell you that I wasn't too sure about you referring to me as 'baby'?"

"Yes, that's what you said last time I asked."

"That's right," she said smirking, watching Will shuffle through his notes again. "You explained that in the original version, you used 'Lizzy,' and Fitz convinced you to change it to 'baby.' I still need to thank him for that," Lizzy added. "Saved me from a whole lot of awkward."

Will waited, wanting to turn and watch her, but he didn't.

"Did I tell you that it confused me?" Lizzy asked in the same light tone.

"Yes. The first time I asked you," Will replied carefully.

"Oh, yeah—and then you asked me if that song made me love you," Lizzy said in a tone of dawning realization.

"And you explained that it made you reconsider me," Will said, plucking out a few broken chords just to occupy his hands. "Reconsider your perception of me."

"Did I tell you it convinced me that you couldn't possibly be as conceited as I thought you were?" Lizzy asked. "Since you were so honest?"

"Yes," he said, dropping his guitar pick and reaching for it.

"Did I tell you that it showed me that I needed to be more careful about what I told you," Lizzy said, "since you were going to remember it so well?"

"_Yes_," Will said, unable now to keep the impatience out of his voice.

Lizzy sighed heavily, and Will turned her way as she said, "I guess I'm out of answers then."

"That isn't possible," Will scoffed.

"Sure, it is," said Lizzy, flipping to the next printed translation. "It's only one question, and I can't remember any other ways to reply." Will opened his mouth to protest again until Lizzy looked back to him sidelong, a smirk hanging around her mouth, and he knew she was teasing. Especially when she added, "At least without encouragement."

Will sighed. "What _sort_ of encouragement?"

"What sort of encouragement?" she echoed, placing the papers down carefully. Then she slid slowly between Will and his instrument, until he was forced to lay the guitar down on the ottoman and she was occupying his lap, one arm around his shoulders, one hand trapping the pick between his fingers. "What sort of encouragement?" Lizzy asked again, smirking as she leaned forward, pressing him back into the cushions. Will's eyes widened, their mouths an inch apart. "What kind of boyfriend _are_ you?"

He kissed her.

Will's encouragements managed to take up the last ten minutes of their solitude, and just as he'd begun to seriously jog her memory, a key scraped the lock and the front door creaked open, letting in an icy draft and a small, sharp-eyed manager.

Maggie took one look at Will and Lizzy on the couch and then looked back over her shoulder at her husband. "I _told_ you someone would be awake."

"Boo," Lizzy grumbled, and Will sighed in agreement, removing his hand from under her pajama top and pushing his weight off Lizzy so that they could both sit up.

"Hey, kids," said Fitz, stepping into the cabin, carrying a polar fleece-wrapped, Zarine-shaped bundle. "We interrupting something?"

Lizzy glared at Fitz, grabbing the white undershirt from the floor and handing it over. Will stuffed it over his head quickly and pulled his guitar back into his lap.

"Bet you wish you two had the guest cottage _now_," Fitz said, tugging off Zarine's hat, a pink one, with purple bear ears on top.

"_Fitz_," Maggie scolded, going to the kitchen.

Will ignored them and returned to his song-writing, plucking out the tune that Lizzy had heard in her room. She refrained from saying all sorts of unpleasant discouragements to Fitz, since his daughter was in the room.

"Everyone's on their own for breakfast," Maggie announced, going through three cabinets before finding the right one. She pulled out three bowls and Cheerios. "We've got cereal and milk, oatmeal, grits, eggs, bacon…and I think we got English muffins, too, for Charlie."

"And Will made coffee," Lizzy added, smirking in Fitz's direction. Fitz carefully ignored her and concentrated on unwrapping the baby from her many pink and purple layers. Zarine made herself less than helpful by trying to put her fingers in her mouth and fussing when her father removed them so that he could pull off her jacket sleeve.

The door behind the couch opened, and a bedraggled figure in a giant _Love and Other Accidents_ t-shirt and NYU mesh shorts stumbled out, her brown hair falling into her face. "I heard the word _coffee_," Giana explained, rubbing her eyes.

"Will made it," Lizzy replied amused.

"Will, that makes you the _best_ elder brother in the world," Giana mumbled sleepily, hugging him around the shoulders over the top of the couch, and Will smiled half-turning toward her.

"It's in the kitchen," Lizzy added, smiling fondly at them both, and Giana redirected her attention to the kitchen where Maggie was putting a bowl of uncooked oatmeal into the microwave.

"I better go get some before Giana takes it all. Do you want anymore?" Lizzy asked Will, picking up his mug and standing.

"Please," he replied, glancing up as she walked around the sofa.

He froze when he felt her arm reach from behind the couch and slide across his chest, but he let her pull him gently back. "As far as encouragement goes," she whispered in his ear, "when I snuck into your concert in September and saw you sing 'You Told Me' onstage, I decided you were the only man I'd ever love." Then, Lizzy's hand turned Will's shocked face toward her so that she could kiss him briefly on the mouth before continuing on her way.

"Lizzy, are you telling Will naughty things again?" Fitz asked, settling Zarine into her high chair.

"Ugh," Giana commented, coffeepot and mug in either hand. "Say no please."

"Hmm," said Lizzy thoughtfully, smirking as she reached over the counter and took the coffeepot from Giana and poured. "I prefer to think of them as sweet nothings."

"Well, it was certainly _something_," Fitz replied, pouring some Cheerios in front of Zarine. "If Will's face gets any redder, someone will mistake Will's head for a beet, and puree it for baby food."

Lizzy looked up just in time to catch Will shaking his hair forward in an effort to cover his blush, and she laughed.

"Well, that's rather graphic," Giana told Fitz, blowing on her coffee.

Lizzy walked Will's mug back to him, set it on a coaster at the sidetable next to him, and kissed his flushed forehead tenderly. "I love you. You're cute," she said decisively, waiting for Will to grin sheepishly up at her before heading back to the kitchen to doctor her own coffee.

"Fitz, I think you must be mixing up your vegetables," Maggie said. "We don't feed Zarine beets. She's allergic."

"Oh, yeah," Fitz said, twisting the top on a sippy cup filled with milk. "Beets are what fills her diaper with green shit, right?"

Will grimaced, and Giana pretended to gag, saying "Well, that's even _more_ graphic. Thank you, Fitz."

"Drink your coffee," Lizzy told Giana, patting her on the shoulder. "It'll help."

"Help what?" asked someone behind Will. The other turned to notice Jimmy with the neatly combed look of someone freshly showered, standing in the doorway of the room he shared with Will.

"Jimmy!" cried Giana, and she flounced across the room to hug him good morning.

Will turned away, careful—Lizzy noticed—not to scowl.

"I blame you for this," Will told Lizzy when he caught her looking.

Lizzy frowned. "For _what_?"

"Addicting my little sister to coffee," he explained with a half-grin.

Lizzy rolled her eyes.

"You've got no one but _yourself_ to blame for that, Will. _You're_ the one who sent me a bloody cappuccino machine for my birthday," Giana retorted. "You blame Lizzy for getting _you_ addicted."

"I blame Fitz, actually," Will said, beginning to collect the papers around him and settle them at the bottom of his guitar case.

"Really? Because I blame Lizzy," Fitz said, so bitterly that Lizzy grinned and took a sip of her coffee.

"Poor Jimmy," Maggie said, nodding at the boy's bewildered face. "We've confused him."

Jimmy smiled briefly, and Lizzy laughed. "Okay, Jimmy," she said. "Do you drink coffee? Yes or no?"

"Only during finals," Jimmy replied politely, and Lizzy's glance automatically traveled to Will.

(Will didn't glance at the boy; he didn't even look up.)

"Good," Lizzy said, turning back to Jimmy. "Because I just took the last of it."

"No second cup?" Giana gasped with wide, pleading eyes.

"Relax," Lizzy said, plugging in the coffee grinder. "I'm brewing another pot."

"Which makes you the _best_ girlfriend my brother could ever have," Giana told her, and Lizzy laughed.

"But why are we blaming Fitz and Lizzy for Will's coffee habit?" Jimmy asked Giana quietly.

(Will didn't like how Jimmy phrased that, Lizzy could tell from the scowl on Will's face. But to his credit, he only packed his guitar away and said nothing.)

"Because Lizzy's a two-faced, double-crossing scam artist," Fitz grumbled, "and I'm a victim."

"You know, Fitz," Maggie said, sitting down at the kitchen table with two bowls of oatmeal and placing a spoon in each, "You're going to have to get over it someday."

"Never," Fitz said through a mouthful of oatmeal, glaring at Lizzy and Will each in turn. "No one can replace what they took from me."

"Yep," replied Lizzy cheerfully, and Maggie sighed and started eating her breakfast.

Jimmy turned to Giana hopefully.

"Make us a bit of breakfast, find yourself a seat, and I'll tell you the story," Giana told him, kissing his cheek.

(Will pretended not to notice.)

Smiling a little, Jimmy moved toward the kitchen, and Giana began, "Once upon a time, all of us gathered here today held two truths to be self-evident: first, Will hated coffee, and second, Fitz never lost a bet. Then, there was Lizzy, who proved their undoing."

Grinning, Lizzy took a dramatic bow, and her spoon slipped promptly out of her hand. "Well, shit," she muttered, snatching it up.

"Serves you right," Fitz said.

Maggie smacked his shoulder and told Lizzy, "Not in front of the baby."

"Oops. Sorry, Zarine," Lizzy added, moving out of Jimmy's way as he made his way to the cereal cabinet.

Zarine put a Cheerio in her mouth and looked at her parents.

"Lizzy loved coffee," Giana continued, "and she loved my brother Will. One day, she vowed to bring her two great loves together. On this _same_ day, Fitz had the bad taste to start a very inappropriate betting pool—"

"Inappropriate?" Jimmy asked, opening the refrigerator for the milk.

(Will _really_ didn't like this. He even threw Jimmy a glare but looked away again before anyone noticed besides Lizzy.)

"The usual," Fitz said. "Whether or not Will proposed, number of hickies they each had—"

"Bastard," Lizzy snapped in Fitz's direction.

"And this betting pool managed to piss Lizzy off somewhat," Giana went on.

"She almost beat the phone to death," Will added quietly, and Lizzy grinned.

"Hey, I did the same thing for Charlie and Jane, and _they_ didn't flip out," Fitz protested.

"That's because Jane didn't know about it," Lizzy retorted.

"_Anyway_," Giana said irritably, "Lizzy also vowed revenge on a certain Richard Fitzwilliam. She soon came to the conclusion that the easiest way to keep these vows was to combine them. So the next time she saw Fitz, when she came to New York to visit with Will before and after B.F.D.'s appearance on Saturday Night Live, she managed to convince Fitz to enter into a new bet with her."

"_Tricked_ me is what she did," Fitz said. "She trips into our dressing room all cheery, sipping at cup of Starbucks, and offers Will some. Will refuses, of course, and I tell her that Will won't ever succumb to the coffee addiction of America. Then she turns to me all smirky—I shoulda known then, with that smirk—and asks 'Wanna bet?' Will protests, Lizzy calls me chicken, and then there was a bet."

"What were the terms?" Jimmy asked.

(Will thought quite privately that it was very uncouth to make this story about money and told Lizzy so later.)

"Only $50," Fitz said with a sigh. "Will would've never forgive me for taking advantage of Lizzy. She's poor."

"But I was $50 richer after the bet," Lizzy said smugly.

"Lizzy was quite clever," Giana said, sitting down at the kitchen table and smiling when Jimmy put a bowl of milk and Life cereal in front of her. "She knew that Will had also fallen prey to his cousin's winning streak, and she knew that Will would sacrifice all his anti-coffee tastebuds if it meant getting back at Fitz. So she presented her plan to Will, who quickly agreed."

"I told you," said Fitz darkly. "Scam artists."

"But they did have to make it believeable," Giana continued, ignoring Fitz. "They waited to make their move when the tour started. Now," Giana said seriously, her hand on Jimmy's arm. He stopped and listened intently, "you may not know this, but concert tours are rather grueling. Most people will tell you the end of the tour is the worst part, because the musicians are exhausted and all that whatnot. Will, however, finds the beginning the hardest, when he has jet lag from England and then there's the beds on the tour bus, which are _so_ bloody uncomfortable that you feel like lying on the bloody floor instead—"

"_Language_, Georgiana," Maggie interrupted, nodding at Zarine.

"Right. Sorry, but—" Giana told Jimmy. "I know from experience, and they suck. So, Will's roaming about sleep-deprived for a few days, probably grumping at everyone as usual—"

"I feel that I should resent that," Will said.

"Nope, it's true," Lizzy chirped. "I remember a couple of phone calls that got really bitchy on your end of the line."

"I don't know if I would use the word 'bitchy'—" Will began.

"Will, if Lizzy thinks you were bitchy, then she's probably right," Maggie told him firmly, and Will scowled.

"Since Will was having _so_ much trouble staying awake, Charlie offers him some of his own coffee in the morning. Which is normal, by the way," she added for Jimmy's benefit. "Charlie's _always _trying to help. Because he's _supposedly_ desperate, Will takes him up on the offer and gags it down with many complaints, much to Fitz's dismay."

"I wasn't _that_ dismayed," Fitz protested. "I never thought it'd last."

"Fine, then," said Giana hotly. "Much to Fitz's dismay, a cup of Charlie's tourbus coffee then became part of Will's morning routine. Gradually, Will stopped complaining."

"That's not true," Maggie said. "Will just got less _adamant_ about complaining."

"I am about two minutes away from being insulted," Will announced scowling.

"Should we set you a timer?" Lizzy snorted, taking the Life cereal from Jimmy before he could put it away.

"Gradually," Giana continued, dipping her spoon into her bowl, "one cup became two. Soon, he was sneaking cups of coffee out of sight of his bandmates, even Fitz! For whom the ruse was designed! And then Will started experimenting with his anti-coffee taste buds at Starbucks and developed a liking for a certain mixture called…_the cappuccino._ With extra foam," she added, grinning at her brother.

Will only rolled his eyes.

"You forgot the fact that Will bought his own cappuccino machine for the tour bus, before he thought to give you one," Maggie reminded Giana. "He wouldn't even touch Charlie's coffee anymore."

"Thus was the birth of another coffee snob," said Lizzy with a smug grin. "I laughed so hard when I saw that cappuccino machine. Will never admitted to me that he ended up actually _liking_ the coffee," she explained to Jimmy.

"I don't _like_ it," Will said irritably, "but I'm addicted now, aren't I?"

"So, you gave your sister a cappuccino machine for her birthday because you hated yours so much," Lizzy asked him.

"I might as well drink what I'm forced to _prefer_—" Will started.

"Find me one person in this room that believes you," Lizzy said smirking, and Will opened his mouth and quickly closed it. "Thought so," she said in a sing-song.

"You guys are forgetting the most important part," Fitz grumbled, picking up his and his wife's empty bowls and taking them to the sink.

"Right," said Giana before adding seriously, "and then Lizzy also called Fitz on the bet and split her winnings with Will."

"That's the only bet I lost _ever,"_ Fitz whined. "It ended a _thirty-year_ winning streak. I can't ever bet again."

"You're thirty?" Lizzy asked Fitz surprised.

"Yeah," said Fitz, shoving his hands in his pockets and pouting. "So?"

"Had his birthday last month," Maggie mouthed to Lizzy.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "I thought thirty-year-olds were supposed to be mature, responsible citizens or something."

"_Listen,_ kiddo—" Fitz started scowling, taking a step towards her, but Lizzy ducked away and out of the kitchen, cereal boxed tucked under her arm, and even Will was laughing.

"Grumpy old man," Lizzy teased. She pulled a square of Life cereal out of the box, tossed it up in the air, and caught it in her mouth, beaming as she chewed.

"How old are you?" Fitz scoffed. "Like seven?"

Lizzy smiled and held out the open box. With as much dignity as he could muster, Fitz snagged a piece of cereal, tossed it up, and missed his mouth completely. "Shit," Fitz said sadly and dragged himself over to his wife, dropping to the floor so that he could put his head in her lap. "Mags, I've lost my touch. I'm an old man. I might as well start clipping the hair out of my ears and waxing my back now."

"Stop it," Maggie said, rubbing his red hair and laughing. "You're too young to have a mid-life crisis."

"Oh my God, I'm having a mid-life crisis!" Fitz gasped, sitting up. "That means I'm only going to live until I'm sixty. Oh my God, my life's almost over!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Will told his cousin, standing up.

"Just you wait, Will," Fitz told him ominously. "Three more years, and you'll be in the same state I'm in."

"Four years. I'm only twenty-six," Will reminded him, walking into the kitchen where Lizzy continued to toss cereal in the air and catch it in her mouth. "Don't do that," he told her, taking the box away. "You'll choke."

Lizzy scowled at him open-mouthed, and Giana turned to Jimmy, trying not to laugh.

"Don't worry, Fitz. You're the youngest thirty-year-old I know," Lizzy said, glaring at Will. "There are some twenty-six year olds I know that act _much_ older than you."

"It's for your own good," Will told her.

"Give me back my cereal," Lizzy said, lunging for it.

Will put it behind his back. "Not if you're going to abuse the privilege."

"_Abuse the privilege_?" Lizzy repeated. "Who do you think you are? You're my boyfriend, not my father figure."

"I feel better about being a grown-up now," Fitz told his wife, getting up from the floor.

"Perhaps, if your father _had_ corrected you, you wouldn't have so much trouble submitting to authority," Will said, keeping the box of cereal well out of Lizzy's reach.

"Do you think they're too old to put in time-out?" Maggie asked Fitz.

"_Excuse_ me?" Lizzy snapped. "First of all, we don't need to get into all the father issues we have between us, and second of all, what kind of authority do you think you are?"

"Now hold on," Giana said as she and Jimmy watched them. "Lizzy'll fix it in a minute."

"Honestly, Lizzy, if you didn't—" Will began scowling and stopped abruptly when Lizzy kissed him.

"She fixed it!" Giana said triumphantly, grinning as Lizzy reached her hand around Will's waist, snatching the box out of his hands, and jumped away.

"Lizzy!" Will cried scowling. "You _tricked_ me."

"You took my cereal away," Lizzy reminded him, curling her torso around the box as Will reached for it. "I can't be responsible for my actions."

"Now, we're back to the squabbling," Fitz complained with a heavy sigh, turning to his daughter. "Zarine," he said, pointing at Lizzy and Will, "_this_ is a bad example. Don't follow it, okay?"

Wide-eyed, Zarine put another Cheerio in her mouth.

Jimmy was open-mouthed, watching Will try to pry Lizzy's fingers away from the Life cereal.

"Look, Lizzy," Will said in his most reasonable tone, both hands on top of Lizzy's. "I'll pour some in a bowl, put milk in it, and give you a spoon. If you'll just—"

"If you tear the box, Will, I swear I'll—" Lizzy started as the box bent between their efforts.

"Then we'll get a Ziploc," Will said calmly. "It'll be fine."

"God, can you imagine them with kids?" Jimmy asked Giana.

Lizzy gasped and let go of the box, which went flying across the kitchen floor. "Don't _say_ that," Lizzy said to Jimmy, face red. "Don't _ever_ say that. You'll give him _ideas_."

"Sorry," Jimmy said with a brief apologetic smile, trying not to notice Will glaring at him.

Lizzy looked over the floor, at pale brown squarish patches over the slate tile. "My cereal," she said mournfully.

"Now, Lizzy," Fitz said in his most patronizing tone, "don't cry over spilled cereal."

Giana giggled, Maggie rolled her eyes, and Jimmy glanced around the room like he didn't know who to gape at.

Will sighed. "I'll clean it up," he said, moving toward the pantry. Lizzy picked up the box and began sullenly eating the cereal.

"Do you want milk?" Will asked her, broom in hand, and Lizzy shook her head without looking at him, shoving cereal into her mouth. "Do you even want a bowl?" he asked, and chewing, Lizzy shook her head again. Will sighed and began sweeping up the mess.

"Are they always like this?" Jimmy asked Giana.

"Nearly always," Giana said.

"You should get dressed," Will told Lizzy.

_Now_ Lizzy glanced back at him, eyes narrowed over her cereal box, with a significant glare at his plaid flannel pants. "Look who's talking."

"I plan to get dressed as soon as I finish this," Will said in his most patient voice.

"How hard _is_ it for you to understand that I _hate_ getting bossed around?" Lizzy replied in her most annoyed tone.

"Do you have skis or not?" Will asked.

"Whoa, way to change the subject," Lizzy snorted.

"There's a place down the mountain that loans out skis, and since you didn't seem to bring—" Will began.

"Oh, you want to take me to go rent skis," Lizzy realized, lowering the cereal box from her face.

"Fitz and I brought up everyone else's skis," Maggie explained. "Since you don't have any—"

"No, I definitely have some," Lizzy replied, "but they're cross-country. I wasn't sure if they had trails running around here or not."

"Cross-country?" Fitz said, lifting the top of the high chair up and pulling Zarine out of it. "Isn't that the kind where you have to hike up the hill before you can ski down it?"

"It's made for flat terrain," Maggie explained. "Kind of like running. Or the Nordic track."

"Doesn't sound like fun to me," Fitz grumbled. "Sounds like _work_."

"Yeah, but you don't have to rely on a ski lift to get you anywhere," Lizzy pointed out.

"You should get dressed, Lizzy," Will repeated, bending down with the dust pan to sweep away the pile of sugar and grain that had once been Lizzy's cereal. When he noticed the entire room staring at him, he added, "_What_? The lifts open in an hour; I'd prefer an early start."

"Okay, Will," Lizzy said, rolling the cereal bag into the box and closing the top over it. "We've been over this before, but maybe I should try being more blunt: Will, you're going about this all wrong, and it's pissing me off. You _should_ say, 'Lizzy, I noticed that you didn't bring your skis. Do you want to head downhill and get outfitted before the lifts open?' By asking it as a _question_, a demand becomes a _request_, which sounds so much better than your _do-it-now_ attitude."

Will scowled, and Fitz snickered. Maggie went to the closet and pulled out a giant pink and green playpen and began setting it up. At the bar, Jimmy and Giana looked from Will to Lizzy.

"Come on, Will," Lizzy said with an encouraging smirk. "Practice with me. Ask me, 'Do you want to rent skis?'"

Will glared at her.

"_Then_, I'll say yes," Lizzy went on, moving toward the cabinets to put the crushed cereal box away, "and _you_ can say, 'Why don't I finish cleaning this up and give you a chance to get dressed? We'll leave in about ten minutes.' That sounds nice. You should say that."

"Lizzy—" Will started warningly, standing up straight.

"And while you're at it, you might as well say, 'Lizzy, I'm so sorry I was a complete and utter asshole and started everyone's day off sucky,'" Lizzy added, turning back to glare at him.

"No, this isn't a terribly bad start, not for me," Giana said, holding her bowl to her mouth, preparing to slurp down the milk. "It's quite amusing actually."

"So you know," Lizzy told Will, arms crossed, "it's really hard to be intimidating with a dustpan in one hand and a broom in the other."

Giana giggled, and when her brother turned his scowl to her, she concentrated on drinking the contents of her bowl.

"Do you want me to get you a fresh glass?" Jimmy asked her. "Of milk?"

Giana shook her head. "No thanks. This is sweetened."

Will strode over to the closet, dumped the contents of the dustpan in the trash, put the dustpan back on the shelf, leaned the broom against the back wall, closed the closet, and turned toward his bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lizzy asked him, leaning her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands, peering at him over the bar.

Will came to a halt between the couch he'd previously occupied and the playpen that Fitz and Maggie were setting up for Zarine. "To get dressed," Will replied, jaw tight. "Is that a problem?"

"Don't forget about your dishes," Lizzy said, nodding at the empty coffee mug he'd left on the side-table. "That needs to go in the dishwasher."

"Marry me, and I'll do it," Will said stoutly, arms crossed and glaring.

Lizzy snorted. "Cute," she said, "but you'll do it anyway. Maggie's your manager; she's not your maid, and neither is anyone else. You have to pick up after yourself."

Will scowled and took a step forward, reaching for the mug.

Fitz laughed, Giana giggled, Maggie shook her head smiling, Lizzy fought a smirk, and Jimmy looked like he was wondering if it wasn't too late to leave.

Maggie took pity on him. "This is normal, Jimmy."

"Normal?" Jimmy repeated, eyebrows raised, mouth in a tight line.

"Will has this crazy idea that if he asks her enough times, she'll come around," Fitz explained, tightening a green plastic wingnut on the side of the playpen.

"She already _nags _me like we're married already," Will snapped back at the sink, rinsing out his mug.

"Someone has to," Lizzy replied cheerfully.

Giana put down her bowl, empty, and wiped off her milk mustache, grinning. "Don't you have a record, Will?"

Will ignored that, opening the dishwasher.

"Seventeen proposals," Fitz said, taking the baby so that Maggie could put a bundle of blankets and stuffed animals into the playpen for Zarine's benefit.

"A week?" Jimmy said awed.

"A _day_," Lizzy replied, picking up Giana's bowl and putting it in the dishwasher, "and that's not accurate. He got up to twenty-three once on the phone with me."

When Jimmy's mouth dropped open, Will made a face and placed his mug ceremoniously in the dishwasher. "It was a four hour phone conversation," Will pointed out.

"Then there was that onstage proposal," Fitz added with a widening grin, and Lizzy grimaced apologetically in Will's direction. "I really thought that one would work too, but apparently, Lizzy's more stubborn than we all thought."

"It worked for Johnny Cash," Will grumbled.

"I _knew_ we shouldn't have watched _Walk the Line_ so many times," Maggie said.

"When were you onstage?" asked Jimmy.

"I'm a musician," Will replied scowling, and Jimmy frowned back.

"I think Jimmy was asking Lizzy," Giana said with a slow quiet grin.

"Last September, when I snuck into the last concert of B.F.D's third tour to see what all the fuss was about," Lizzy said cheerfully. "Good thing I went too. A fan got onstage and tried to kiss Will."

"What'd you do?" Jimmy asked grinning.

"Climbed up and pulled her off," Lizzy said. But she was looking at Will, who was wearing a bewildered scowl.

"_And_ she ended up singing a duet with Will," said Giana proudly.

"Lizzy was a little tipsy," Fitz added, and Lizzy turnd toward him, with a grin and a shrug.

"'I Want You To Want Me,' wasn't it?" Giana asked, and Lizzy nodded. "A very good performance, all in all. Do you want to watch it?" Giana said, turning to Jimmy excitedly. "It's on Youtube, and we have wireless."

"Maybe later," Jimmy answered quietly, just before the couple in the kitchen reacted:

"This cabin has wireless?" Lizzy said aghast.

"It's on YouTube?" Will said horrified. "How do you know it's on YouTube?"

"Because Maggie gave it to me and told me to put it online," Giana said sweetly.

"_Maggie_," Will said, pausing as he closed the dishwasher to scowl at her.

"What?" Maggie said defensively. "YouTube is free PR. You don't pass up free PR."

Will began to grumble again and started to escape toward his room, but Lizzy grabbed him around the waist just before he managed to flee the kitchen. "Guess what?" Lizzy asked him smirking, her chin on his chest.

"What?" Will replied irritably.

"You love me," she replied smiling, and Will's scowl softened.

He even bent down and hugged her, his chin on top of her head. "Very much actually."

"I love you too," Lizzy said into his chest.

"Aww," said Giana, beaming at them.

"Quick, Mags," Fitz said. "Get the camera! This may the only chance we have to get a picture of Will and Lizzy _not_ fighting."

Will only held Lizzy tighter, and Lizzy smiled. "I'll go get dressed," she promised.

"Me too," Will replied, taking her hand and walking with her toward their bedrooms.

Maggie was laughing. Fitz was snickering, but all that was easily ignored until Will and Lizzy neared their doors and they heard Giana ask behind them, "Are you all right, Jimmy? You seem a bit off."

Lizzy felt Will stiffen, and she turned halfway toward him.

"I just…can't figure out how their relationship _works_," Jimmy whispered back.

Will heard, probably took it as some sort of insult to his eligibility or something, and turned around sharply to argue. Before he could speak, Lizzy yanked on his hand and pushed him toward his door. "Just go get dressed," she told him firmly, and Will sighed irritably but went.

4.

"I don't like him," Will said, almost two hours later, sitting between Fitz and Lizzy on a lift chair, glaring at Jimmy's back on the chair just ahead of them.

"Yeah? I don't think anyone could tell," Fitz said, scratching his nose, already red in the cold. "You hide it really well."

Lizzy leaned across Will's chest to grin at Fitz. "That's what I said yesterday."

"Should we start a petition maybe?" Fitz replied.

"I don't like how he invited himself to come with us when we got you skis," Will said, still scowling ahead of them.

"He didn't; Giana did," Lizzy reminded him, looking back out over the scenery: at the dark, snow-heavy treetops, at the slope with the long winding tracks, of the stream just under them, frozen over with blue-white ice. She was _definitely_ bringing her camera with her tomorrow.

"It nearly makes me want to think that he expected it to be _our_ responsibility to outfit him," Will muttered.

"Or maybe he just needed to rent a pair of skis, kind of like Lizzy did," Fitz replied, "but no, that would be too simple."

"Come on, Will," Lizzy said. "He paid for his own skis, just like I did. I don't see what your problem is."

"I don't trust him," Will said scowling.

"Will, you can count the people that you _do_ trust on one hand," Lizzy sighed. "That can't be your excuse for everything."

Will was silent.

Fitz was counting on his gloved fingers, murmuring the names of Will's bandmates, his manager, his sister, his girlfriend. "Holy shit, you _can_ only count them on one hand."

"You forgot Cynthia Grayson," Will said with a sigh.

"Oh," said Fitz and turned to Lizzy smugly. "You were wrong, kiddo. Will trusts _six_ people. That's more than you can count on one hand."

"Should we get him a medal?" Lizzy asked Fitz, with a teasing grin in Will's direction.

"I don't want a medal," Will replied curtly.

"Oh. Well, then," said Lizzy, turning away and reaching out of the lift chair, trying to brush the snow off the treetops.

"I would prefer a victory kiss," Will added with the beginnings of a smile.

Lizzy turned back, smirking, her eyebrows covered by her ski cap. "I think I can handle that," she said and kissed him.

"Aww, shit," Fitz complained, reaching over the safety bar to dust the snow off his snowboard. "I _knew_ I should've gotten on Giana and Jimmy's chair."

"Don't interrupt," Will told his cousin firmly and bent to kiss Lizzy again, but Lizzy was already sitting up straight and facing forward again, blushing at the mountain in front of them.

"I had to do _something_," Fitz said. "That's the third time you two've found an excuse to kiss each other since we got on the lift. It's a seven minute ride; you could at least wait until we got to the top, for _my_ sake."

"We haven't seen each other in quite a while," Will said defensively.

"What? Did you blink or something?" Fitz asked, watching a lone snowboarder take a tumble down the slope below them and wincing. "Aww, that _had_ to hurt."

"_You_ live with Maggie," Will reminded Fitz. "Lizzy and I don't get to see each other all the time."

"We talk on the phone a lot though," Lizzy reminded him thoughtfully.

"There's only so much you can do on the phone, Lizzy," Will reminded her.

"Help!" Fitz cried, grabbing the armrest to his right and trying to scoot as far away from the couple as possible. "The sweet nothings are coming!"

"Cut it out, Fitz," Lizzy said, clutching at the safety bar. "You're making the chair wobble."

"Uh-oh," Fitz said, beginning to grin. "Did we just figure out why Lizzy likes cross-country so much better than alpine? Is someone maybe a little bit scared of heights? What if I do _this_?" he asked and started jumping up and down on his seat so that the whole chair started bobbing up and down.

Lizzy's eyes went wider, watching the snow fall from her skis toward the ground way, _way_ below, and she grabbed Will's arm tightly. "I'll tell Maggie," she threatened with a glare.

Fitz stopped abruptly. "You're no fun," he sulked.

"Lizzy, how long have we been dating?" Will asked her.

"Is that a trick question?" Lizzy replied, re-settling herself more carefully on the chair, her back pressed firmly against the seat behind her.

"Did you forget your anniversary or something?" Fitz wanted to know. "Because it doesn't work on Maggie. She's just taken to emailing me a PDF file of our marriage certificate when it gets close."

Will ignored this, watching Lizzy as she tugged the sleeves if her ski jacket over her mittins. "It's just above fourteen months, isn't it?"

"I think so," Lizzy said thoughtfully and nodded. "Yeah."

"Lizzy, do you realize that since we've been a couple, we've spent less than two months with each other?" Will asked.

"No…" Lizzy said slowly, frowning at him, trying to think. "That can't be right."

"I just added it up in my head," Will said. "I'm almost sure—"

"Well, you've been sure _and_ wrong before," Lizzy reminded him, and when Fitz snickered, Will scowled. "Let's go through it together. After Charlie came to propose to Jane at Vickroot, you two hung around for a week and a half at Netherfield before you had to start rehearsals for the tour. That's eleven days."

"The Saturday Night Live deal was next, right?" Fitz offered.

Will's scowl softened slightly. "Four days."

"Five," Lizzy corrected, shaking her head. "I remember, because I had to cancel an appointment."

"That's sixteen total," Will said. "Then Valentine's day. A long weekend."

"Four days," Lizzy said grinning. When Will turned to her, also smiling, she knew that they were both thinking of the same memory—of Will telling Lizzy over the phone that something had come up, that he wasn't going to make it; of Lizzy yelling at him, annoyed and disappointed, until she heard a knock at her apartment door; of Lizzy hanging up the phone and opening the door to reveal…Will, with his cell phone in one hand and lilies in the other. _A peace offering_, he'd explained, just before he'd kissed her.

"Just don't make out again," Fitz begged.

Lizzy snorted and continued, "Twenty total. Then there was your birthday, that week before the tour started."

"Twenty-seven," Will said, kissing Lizzy's cheek.

"How 'bout the two-week tour break?" Fitz said, obviously hoping to distract them. "Maggie rented us a place at the beach, and we parked the bus in the driveway."

"What's twenty-seven and fourteen?" Lizzy asked, annoyed at her math skills and wondering if she'd been relying on her calculator too much.

"Forty-one," said Fitz with a long-suffering sigh.

"There were those two weekends," Will said. "One at that B & B place."

"The Swag. In the North Carolina mountains. It wasn't nearly as isolated as you thought," Lizzy said nodding. She smirked, remembering how pissed Will had been when he'd been asked for a total of thirty-two autographs for the other guests' daughters, grand-nieces, godchildren, cousins, etc. From the scowl that had returned to Will's face, it was pretty clear that Will didn't treasure _that_ memory as much as Lizzy did. "Then the other one in Hawaii. That's—what? Eight more days?"

"Seven," Will said with a slight grin. "Don't try to round up."

"We're at forty-eight," Fitz said matter-of-factly.

"Then, I came to your last concert in September and hung around for a little under a week," Lizzy reminded him, zipping up the collar of her ski jacket.

"Six days. Fifty-four total," Will said.

"Then six days between my birthday and our anniversary," Lizzy said. "That's sixty. That's two months."

"Sixty-one is two months," Will said firmly.

"Well, you forgot to add the past two days," Fitz reminded them. "That's sixty-two. Which is still pretty sad."

"Well, shit," Lizzy said aghast, looking at Will. "I never see you."

"I _did_ tell you," Will reminded her. "Marry me."

"Can we put the safety bar up now?" Fitz asked. Will and Lizzy turned to notice that they were three posts away from the end of the lift.

Lizzy loosened her grip on the safety bar so that Fitz could raised it. "Will, this is serious," she told him.

"So am I," Will replied, gathering his poles into one hand and Lizzy's arm in the other. "Marry me."

"_Will_," Lizzy warned, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm with Jimmy," Fitz muttered, turning his hips in his seat so that the nose of his snowboard pointed forward. "Can't figure out how the hell you guys work."

Will turned his scowl toward his cousin, but it was their turn to disembark. Giana and Jimmy were already off the lift and skiing off the side, out of the way. A mound of snow came up under them, and they each stood up, with Will gripping Lizzy's elbow to make sure she kept her balance.

"Finally!" Giana said grinning and hopping a little in place on her skis as Jimmy watched behind her. "You lot took _forever._"

"Ignore Fitz," Lizzy suggested, re-strapping on her poles as they skied to a stop just next to Giana and Jimmy. "He just misses Maggie."

"Mags!" Fitz moaned, tearing off his gloves and leaning against a snowdrift so that he could strap in his boots to his board. "Why did you abandon me to these adolescents?"

"Didn't she say she had work to do?" Lizzy asked.

"She was lying," Fitz grumbled, hunched over, his hair escaping from his beanie in a red tuft. "She's just going to stick around and play with Zarine."

"Why didn't you stay with her then?" Giana asked, poling closer.

Fitz sighed, stuffing his hands back into his gloves. "I'm on a recon mission. She wants me to figure out which slopes she should ski. She doesn't trust anyone else to do it."

"Sounds like Maggie had quite a bit of work to do, and she didn't want any distractions," Giana said knowingly as Jimmy scooted up next to her.

Fitz collapsed against the snowdrift, muttering "I feel so unloved."

Lizzy laughed, and Giana patted his shoulder fondly with her green mitten and said, "I love you, Fitz. You're my favorite cousin."

"Thanks, little G," Fitz said.

"Marry me," Will told Lizzy.

"Not that again," Giana complained. "Didn't we come out here to ski?"

"How is that going to help any?" Lizzy said scowling. "It won't change our schedules. It'll probably make mine worse, because then I'll have a wedding to plan."

"We'll live together," Will pointed out hopefully.

"I work in New York," Lizzy reminded him, "and you live in England."

Will scowled at the ground, until he noticed Jimmy shaking his head with a slight smile. Then, he redirected his scowl back to his sister's boyfriend.

Giana noticed and quickly asked, "Are we quite ready now?"

"_Quite_," Fitz said with a grin, standing up and hopping in the direction of the ski run to give himself some momentum.

Giana and Jimmy scooted to the top of the hill with him, but when Lizzy tried to skate after them, Will placed a hand on her shoulder. "Wait."

"Will, stop bothering Lizzy so we can ski," Giana called over her shoulder.

"Lizzy doesn't know _how_ to ski," Will called back.

"_Will_," Lizzy replied annoyed, "you _know_ I can ski. I skied to Netherfield when Jane got sick, remember?"

"That was cross-country," Will reminded her. "This is rather different."

"Well, _this_ could go on all day," Fitz said, standing at the top of the hill, half of his board already hanging over the edge of the hill. "I'll see you adolescents at the bottom."

"Will, I can ski both—" Lizzy started, planting her pole and leaning on them.

"You'll seriously hurt yourself if you try to approach it the same way," Will warned her.

"_Will_—" Lizzy started again, narrowing her eyes.

"I'll teach you, Lizzy," he offered. "It won't take long."

Lizzy stood for a moment, leaning on her ski poles and frowning. "Fine," she sighed. "If you want to teach me how to ski, then teach."

"Ready, Giana?" Jimmy asked hopefully.

"Hold on for a moment," Giana said, grinning at her brother and his girlfriend and adjusting her mitten with her teeth. "I think we'll want to see this. Do you have your camera?" she asked Jimmy, turning abruptly

As they shuffled to the start of the run, Lizzy listened doggedly to Will's enthusiastic explanation about the fundamental difference between cross-country skiing and alpine: the turns. Turns, as Will put it, were simple as long as you grasped the concept: shifting your weight from one ski to the other. If Lizzy wanted to go slower on her first try—and Will strongly recommended this—she should turn her toes in to situate her skis in an wedge shape, which would act as a snowplow would and—

"Can we just go already?" Lizzy interrupted, planting her poles between her skis irritably.

"You would like to try?" Will asked with a small fond smile.

"_Yeah_, Will," Lizzy said annoyed, bending to rest her chin on the top of her ski poles. "I want to ski."

"All right," Will said, pushing himself over the edge of the hill with his poles and turning immediately. "I'll just demonstrate," he continued, doing a series of smooth S-shaped turns down the slope and came to a complete, controlled stop. "Do it like this. Now don't worry about using your poles yet; I'll explain those when you need them."

"Is it my turn yet?" Lizzy asked exasperated, and from her place at the top of the slope, Giana giggled.

"Yes. Go ahead. Just like I did," Will said and watched as Lizzy pushed herself forward and came down the hill. Of course, she didn't manage to do it _exactly_ like Will did. Instead, she pointed her skis toward Will and cut a straight line across Will's slow, careful S-shaped tracks.

"No, Lizzy—you need to turn," Will said patiently. Then, when he noticed Lizzy was still headed straight for him, he added hastily, "Turn, Lizzy. _Turn!_"

Lizzy did turn, abruptly, just a few feet from Will, digging the edges of her skis into the side of the hill so sharply that snow shot up under them and showered over Will's head.

"Oops," Lizzy said, but she was smirking.

"Perhaps you might try again," Will said quietly, wiping snow from his face and glancing up the hill to where Jimmy and Giana were watching and laughing.

Will demonstrated a second time. He even showed Lizzy how to form the wedge shape with her skis, and waited and watched a little farther down the hill. Lizzy followed, slowly at first, making precise turns down the hill, her skis in that wedge shape. Halfway down, though, she seemed to almost lose control: hurtling toward Will again and stopping once more, just in time, but again spraying Will with snow.

"What are the _chances_?" Lizzy said in an awed voice. "_Twice_ in a row. One more time, do you think?"

"I suppose," Will said, straight-faced, dusting his jacket off.

"I'll try parallel skis this time," Lizzy decided.

Will didn't bother to demonstrate this time. He made his way quickly down to the bottom of the slope and waited in front of the trees. Lizzy came behind him, skiing just as quickly, her turns quick and sharp, and when she was close enough, she hockey-stopped a third time, just close enough to Will that he was again coated in loose snow. Then, she skied behind him and parked herself just below him, leaning on her poles again as she waited for the other two to catch up.

"You know how to ski," Will said, shaking the snow out of his hair.

"Yep," said Lizzy smugly. "You have _no_ idea how many ski weekends a model gets invited to." Then she added with a warning scowl, "You really should learn how to _listen_, Mr. Darcy. 'Cause it's starting to get old."

Will sighed, and his sister skied up. "Lizzy, you're quite good," Giana said. "Your technique might even be better than Will's."

Lizzy beamed, and Will only sighed again.

Jimmy slid to a stop next to Giana, looking from Will to Lizzy and waiting.

"Come on," Lizzy said, shuffling up the slope a little so that she was close enough to brush the snow off his shoulder and kiss him briefly. "I'll race you to the bottom," she added grinning and turned down the mountain.

5.

"Are we going to stop arguing soon?" Fitz grumbled, scooting to a stop next to the Antler Chandelier Lodge and dropping to a seat in the snow. "Because I'm _hungry_."

"I think we should go back," Will said, stopping next to his cousin. There was no telling what could go on when certain people were alone and unsupervised. "No use in eating out when we have food at the cabin."

Lizzy rolled her eyes and slowed next to Fitz. Will was just glad that she refrained from spraying him with snow this time; she was getting uncommonly good at it. "You just want to go check on Jimmy and Giana to make sure they're not doing anything that you and I would do if we were alone together," she said shrewdly.

Will wasn't sure how he felt about being so transparent.

"Relax, Will," Maggie said, stopping in front of the ski rack. "They're watching Zarine and maybe some TV."

"Still—" Will started looking down the hill.

"Oh, shut up, Will," Maggie muttered, snapping off her skis. "I'm hungry, I'm sleep-deprived, and I want to eat a meal that I don't need to cook or clean up."

Lizzy laughed, stepping out of her own skis and hooking them together. "I guess we're eating here."

Fitz didn't answer but shoved his snowboard into the snow, tail first.

"We'll see someone we know," Will muttered, using his poles to unsnap his boots from his skis.

"Paranoid," Lizzy said in a sing-song at the ski rack as she hooked her pole straps over her ski tips.

"We will," Will said decisively, settling his skis next to hers, "simply because I would rather not."

"Uh-huh," Lizzy said, taking his hand and heading toward the steps. "You know," she added, turning to him as she started clunking up the steps, "you're lucky that I think you're sexy when you scowl."

Will couldn't manage to stop a smile from growing on his face after such a comment, and Lizzy grinned, her other hand on the swinging door. "That's cute too," she added and stepped inside.

She rushed back out almost immediately, eyes wide. What worried Will more was that her tight, wary grip on Will's hand. "Let's go eat at the cabin," she told him.

"Absolutely not," Maggie said, tearing off her hat and shaking out her dark hair as she stomped up the steps.

"But—" Lizzy said helplessly.

"Who is it, kiddo?" Fitz asked, coming up behind Maggie. "The Bingley sisters?"

Will cringed inwardly, wondering if there was any way that he could convince Lizzy to leave Fitz and Maggie and escape by themselves.

Lizzy nodded, horrified. "And this model I knew once. Signed by Victoria Secret almost as soon as she started. Real full of herself."

"You two weren't close, I suppose," Will said with a small smile.

Fitz opened the door, propping it open with his boot. Will watched him peer inside for a sneak peek.

"She's…not a nice person," Lizzy replied. Will tsked under his breath, guessing that it was a understatement. "And she doesn't like me much either. I started calling her 'Harpy,' and apparently it stuck."

Will stiffened, then reproached himself firmly. It couldn't be the same one; it was too much of a coincidence.

"_You_ gave her that nickname?" Maggie said with a slight, surprised frown.

"You guys know her?" Lizzy replied.

Fitz and Will exchanged glances—Will's with growing horror, Fitz's with growing sympathy.

"This might suck for you," Fitz told him.

"Well, come on," Maggie said, walking forward with a sigh. "We're letting in all the cold air."

Maggie had just enough time to slip inside before someone else, blonde and dressed in black, hurtled out the door and wrapped her arms around Will's neck.

"Get _off_," Lizzy told Caroline Bingley, eyes narrowed. "I'm _holding _his _hand_, for fuck's sake. How much more obvious can we _get_?"

Will knew he should say something here, but he couldn't think what.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said, tearing herself away, staring at Will longingly—tragically—through her long, straight-ironed hair. "I…I just—when I see you, Will, I can't help myself. I can't help but think of how we were…"

"Err…" said Will, glancing sidelong at Lizzy, but she only rolled her eyes.

"Come _on_," Maggie said impatiently.

As she stepped inside and dragged Will with her, he noticed some mascara-ed eyelashes fluttering in the corner of his eye, and as he turned, he heard Lizzy say exasperatedly, "Give it a rest, Caroline."

Louisa was standing just inside the door, a pink ski jacket over her arm, its blue wool lining exposed. She stared at them lazily, as each of them stepped inside and tried to shake off some snow. Next to her was an unpleasantly familiar slim figure clad in a black ski suit, her long black hair held back with a braided wool headband, her neck wrapped in a violet silk scarf. Knowing her, she wore the scarf only because it brought out the color of her eyes. Or perhaps because it was expensive. Probably because it was expensive. Probably both.

"This is my friend—" Caroline started, turning to the slim figure.

"Desi Harper," said Will with resignation and awkwardly nodded.

"Oh, you know each other," Caroline said, obviously disappointed.

"Intimately," said Desi Harper.

Will forced himself not to wince. He tried to bring himself to look at Lizzy but couldn't.

Desi Harper was smiling at him in a way that Will remembered he didn't like. Almost as if she was going to devour him in some way. "It's been a long time. Will," she said.

"Yes," said Will, uncomfortably aware of Lizzy's gaze on him.

"So formal," Desi Harper replied, and her smile widened. "It's almost like you aren't happy to see me."

Caroline sighed heavily, sniffed, and seemed to wipe something from her eye. "I need to go…freshen up," she said and disappeared down a hallway.

"Hey, Desi," said Lizzy, and Will glanced down at her. Her bright eyes were narrowed, even suspicious.

"Beth Bennette," replied Desi Harper, turning coolly to Lizzy. "I've heard you're still pulling your usual stunts. Messing around with cameras. Climbing onstage during live concerts—"

"Yeah, well, it's also been a long time," Lizzy interrupted with a challenging smirk. It worried Will when she dropped his hand so that she could cross her arms defiantly over her chest. To give himself something to do, he pulled off his jacket and took it to the guest closet to hang up. Through the closet's doorway, he heard Lizzy continue, "Five years and then some, right?"

"Not long enough," Desi Harper said, and Will turned around just fast enough to see her lower her lashes.

"Oh, good—you're being pretty clear about who the bitch is in this situation," Lizzy said with a wide, relieved smile. "That means I don't have to be nice."

Will threw a silent plea for help in Fitz's direction, and Fitz rolled his eyes but took pity on his cousin. "Well, you might want to be subtle, kiddo. This _is_ the kind of place where they'll throw you out for bad behavior."

"Which better not happen," Maggie warned, walking over to the podium where the hostess was waiting. "It's not fun. Fitz and I know from experience."

"Besides, if we don't feed Maggie soon, she'll eat _us_," Fitz finished with a wide grin and a wink at Will.

"I guess we'll have to act our age or something," Lizzy told Desi Harper with a smile, "or we won't get lunch."

Will tried very hard not to breathe a sigh of relief and almost managed. The sigh wasn't audible, at least.

"How many?" asked the hostess politely.

With that smile that Will didn't like, Desi Harper said, "We've already eaten."

"Four," Maggie told the hostess.

"Would you mind giving us three minutes?" asked the hostess, and when Will looked, the hostess was collecting menus.

"Okay," muttered Maggie, obviously disappointed. Will sympathized silently.

"You're not eating with us? That's—" Fitz started to tell Louisa Bingley, but stopped mid-sentence when he noticed his wife scowling at him. "A shame," Fitz said, nodding with a strained smile.

Will glanced around and assessed the situation: Louisa was watching Desi shrewdly; Desi was watching Will—Will looked away as quickly as possible; and Lizzy—Will noticed with relief—had decided to make good on her word. She was smiling even, as she looked over the menu that someone had put in a bronze case on the wall.

"So…how was the food, Louisa?" Fitz asked, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his snowboard pants.

"The wine selection was poor," replied Louisa, and it didn't surprise Will at all to hear her sounding bored.

"Good reason to move onto hard liquor then," Fitz replied cheerfully.

Will turned quickly, scowling, prepared to help his cousin reconsider, but Maggie beat him to it, saying "Not at this altitude."

"Aww—come on, Mags," Fitz said, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders. "It can't be any worse than playing beer pong on the back of the tourbus with Will and Charlie."

Lizzy laughed, which Will took to be a very good sign. "When was that?"

"About three years ago," Will explained to Lizzy. She refused to look at him, though; she wasn't as carefree as he'd just assumed.

"Before we were married," Maggie told Lizzy, who laughed again, and Will risked putting a hand on her shoulder. He relaxed a little when she didn't shrug it off.

"You aren't still using a tourbus, are you?" Desi Harper asked Will as she refashioned the violet scarf around her neck.

Will glanced at Lizzy, who only looked like she was going to laugh.

"Yeah…" Fitz answered slowly.

"Why?" asked Maggie defensively.

"They're getting more dangerous, aren't they? On the roads," Desi said, frowning slightly. "Considering that incident with the Bucketheads."

Will felt Lizzy stiffen under his hand, and when he looked into her face, he noticed that the amused smile had fallen from her face, that she was pale. "Are you all right, Lizzy?" he asked softly.

"What's a Buckethead?" Lousia asked, nearly sneering.

It was Maggie who answered: "The Bucketheads were a band." When Will glanced over, he saw both she and Fitz were watching Lizzy with concern. "They were driving to a concert in Denver late last September when they lost control of their bus and crashed through the guard rails."

"Oh," said Louisa. "Terrible," she added, as an afterthought.

"What's the matter?" Will asked Lizzy, and she looked up slowly, her bright eyes strained.

"You need to be careful," Desi Harper said softly, looking at Will in that way that was rather frightening, "or else I'll have to worry about you."

"_Don't_, Harpy," Lizzy said, facing the other woman with the most intolerant stare that Will had seen in her since she'd last faced Aunt Catherine de Bourgh. "Don't _even_ try. I'm not in the mood."

Will was surprised when Desi Harper didn't respond, but only blinked back, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.

"Your table is ready," said the hostess behind them.

"Great," Lizzy said and followed her, shrugging off her jacket furiously.

Will made his goodbyes as quickly as possible, avoided eye contact with Desi Harper, and went into the dining room to find Lizzy seated at their table, staring out the window at the bright, sun-lit hill, her jacket hanging off the wooden, high-backed chair behind her.

"Lizzy, I'm impressed," Maggie said as Fitz pulled out her chair for her. Will wondered for an instant if he should have done the same for Lizzy, but remembered how she'd reacted when he had last tried such a thing: she had raised her eyebrows and walked around the table to sit in the other seat.

"With what?" Lizzy asked, watching Maggie sit down.

"Even the Harpy's afraid of you," Fitz said grinning as he dropped into his own seat.

Lizzy scoffed quietly. "I forgot to tell you: she and I got into a catfight once. After a party. When I was young and violent. Well, _more_ violent."

Will couldn't imagine Lizzy in a catfight. No that wasn't quite true, but he definitely couldn't imagine Desi Harper in one.

"Who won?" Fitz asked, as Will took the seat next to Lizzy.

Grinning, Lizzy flipped open her menu. "Who do you think?"

As difficult as it was for Will to imagine Lizzy in a fight, it was impossible to imagine her losing one.

"What'd she do to deserve that?" Maggie asked, and Will couldn't help grinning with her.

"Slept with my boyfriend," Lizzy said matter-of-factly. Will froze, wondering if she was talking about him, but then Lizzy added, "When I left town and visited Jane at school for a weekend."

Maggie and Fitz exchanged glances and simultaneously dropped their gazes to their menus. Will knew that Maggie would never say anything, but Fitz—

"I'm thinking blackened chicken with asparagus," said Lizzy, frowning at the menu and pointedly ignoring Will's questioning stare. "Or should I get the Elk, since we're up here?"

"The buffalo's good," Fitz said, smirking at Will. "You know, I think I'm going to get the buffalo."

"Are you all right?" Will asked Lizzy again.

"Fine," said Lizzy, and Will was only partly reassured when she glanced up at him.

"You're quite pale," he told her.

"Will," she said sternly, looking back to her menu, "I'm _fine_."

Will looked back to his own menu and then back at Lizzy, asking quietly, "Are you angry?"

"No…" Lizzy said slowly, "but my opinion of your taste in girlfriends just went way, _way_ down."

Will couldn't stop himself from scowling, especially when Fitz laughed across the table. Even Maggie, it seemed, was trying to hide a smile behind her menu.

"So your opinion had to be pretty high before this, huh?" Fitz asked Lizzy with a grin. "Since he was dating you."

Lizzy grinned back. "Yep."

Will knew what was coming, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"Aren't you going to ask?" Fitz teased.

"Ask what?" Lizzy replied, on the verge of smiling.

Fitz leaned forward to whisper, "About Harpy."

"I don't really want to know," Lizzy said sharply, snapping her menu closed.

"Liar," said Fitz smugly, and Lizzy scowled at him as she sipped from her water glass.

The waitress arrived at the end of the table, telling them that her name was Meghan and that she would be their server this evening; she pulled out a pad and a pen and asked if she could them anything to drink.

"Iced tea, unsweetened," Maggie said and fixed her eye on her husband threateningly.

"Beer," sighed Fitz. The waitress asked what kind. "Sam Adams."

Lizzy still wouldn't look at Will. Instead, she smiled at the waitress. "Do you have hot cider?" Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed the waitress nod, and Lizzy smiled wider. "I'll have that then."

"And you, sir?"

It took Will a moment to realize that he was being addressed. He glanced up at the waitress briefly and then back to Lizzy. "Just water." It seemed to Will that it took the waitress an extraordinary amount of time to walk away.

Then Fitz leaned toward Will and whispered, "Who wants to bet that she asks for our autograph instead of a tip?"

Before Will could answer, Maggie asked her husband curtly, "What about all your vows that you would never to bet again?"

"Lizzy?" Will asked quietly.

Lizzy looked up, mouth pressed tight, eyebrows raised.

"We should probably dispel the burning suspicion," Fitz said to Maggie, and Lizzy turned toward them.

"It only lasted a week," Maggie explained to Lizzy.

"Let's make a short story even shorter," Fitz said. "Party. Will drunk. _Very_ drunk. Morning. Will wakes up. Discovers a Harpy next to him. Will feels guilty. Will subjects poor defenseless bandmates—"

"--_and_ manager," Maggie added, taking Fitz's hand and smiling.

"To Harpy's presence for a week," Fitz continued, rubbing his thumb over the back of Maggie's hand. "Harpy takes off. End of story."

"That's not the end of the story," Maggie told him with a slight grin.

"Well, I don't remember how he managed to get rid of her," Fitz said sheepishly.

Lizzy glanced up at Will, but he was busy with his menu, trying not to meet anyone's eyes.

"He was himself," Maggie sighed, "at his crankiest."

"Ooo," Lizzy said sympathetically, and Will turned to scowl at her.

"Yeah," said Fitz nodding, "I think I'd leave too."

"You know," Lizzy told Will, and Will felt his scowl drop away, "_grown-ups_ just _tell_ their one-night-stands that they don't want to see them anymore."

"Grown-ups don't use the word grown-up," Fitz pointed out, and Maggie laughed.

"Are you angry?" Will asked Lizzy again.

"Well, why do I always have to pull girls off you?" Lizzy asked scowling.

"Marry me," Will said hopefully.

Lizzy scowled. "There are other things that would work too. Such as, you telling them, 'Sorry, I'm not interested.' It would work a lot better than you standing next to me feeling awkward while I beat off your many fans."

"I'm not like you, Lizzy," Will reminded her, irritated that she would phrase it in that way.

Lizzy folded her arms across her chest, and when Will saw her eyes narrow, he felt his temper abandon him. "Don't give yourself that excuse."

"You _are_ angry then," Will said quietly.

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious," Fitz said, watching their scowls across the table. "I'm thinking it's probably a good thing that they're not sharing a room, after all."

"But Lizzy," Will said, leaning toward her, eyes wide, almost smiling, almost desperate, "I'm the only man you'll ever love."

"Will, you can't just _decide_ something like that—" Maggie started, but Lizzy was grinning now.

"No, actually," Lizzy said, looking up at Will, who smiled back relieved, "that's okay. I kind of like that."

"Huh," Maggie said, mouth slightly open as she leaned back into her seat.

"You can't figure them out, Mags," Fitz told his wife, lifting their linked hands and kissing lightly across her knuckles. "I don't even try anymore."

And Will took it to be a very good sign that Lizzy laughed.

6.

When the door knocked, it was dark except for the glowing light of the moonlight on the snow. Everyone had already gone to bed, and every light was off. The cabin was so quiet that when the knocks rang out, they echoed across the living room ceiling and immediately woke half the house. The second round of knocking woke up the other two, but by then, Lizzy and Will were already in their doorways, peering around their doors at the front entrance.

"What time is it?" Lizzy asked bleary-eyed and squinting.

"After eleven," Will answered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

The living room was so dark that there was only the occasional gleam of moonlight on leather to remind Lizzy where the furniture was.

"Who the fuck is trying to visit _now_?" Giana asked, sitting up in bed and yawning irritably.

Even the embers from the evening fire had burnt down to a minimal glow, barely enough to illuminate the stone ledge in front of the fireplace. The only part of the room that Lizzy could see clearly was the piano—gleaming in the moonlight coming from the window behind it—and the little Christmas tree next to it.

"Dunno, I'll find out though," Lizzy told her, groping along the wall next to her. "Where are the lights?"

"No, don't turn them on," Will hissed. Lizzy glanced his way, just able to see the scowl in his profile against the embers, and watched him reach for something at the side of the fireplace. "He'll know where we are."

The knock sounded again, as Lizzy stood frowning and Will lifted the object in his hand. "A _fire_ poker, Mr. Darcy? And what are you planning on doing with that?"

"Who do you think is on the other side of that bloody door?" Will snapped back, as she came around the couch toward the kitchen. "Saint Nicholas?"

"Well, no—that'd be tomorrow night, when it's Christmas Eve," Lizzy said, heading for the front entrance.

"Lizzy, get away from there!" Will said, rushing forward.

"_Relax_, Will—_Ow_!" she cried, as Will grabbed her wrist and yanked her back, hard, just before she reached the door. She scowled at him through the dark, trying to twist away. "What the _fuck, _that _hurt_, you shithead."

"You don't have any idea who that could be, what he could want, what he could do to you—" Will began angrily.

"Yeah, you're right," Lizzy snapped back, prying his fingers from her wrist. "That's why I was going to look through the fucking peephole."

"What's going on?" Giana asked, standing now in the doorway of the bedroom she shared with Lizzy. In his own doorway, Jimmy frowned but couldn't answer.

Whoever it was on the other side knocked again, harder, and Will blinked in the darkness several times. "I suppose that's all right," he said, but Lizzy was already going on her tiptoes to look.

She snorted softly and reached for the lock.

"_Lizzy_," Will said, raising one hand to stop her and gripping the poker with the other, but Lizzy rolled her eyes, unlatched the door, and opened it.

"It's just Jane and Charlie," Lizzy told him, shaking her head and holding open the door.

"Oh, is that all?" Giana said. "I'll just go back to sleep then. Goodnight, all. 'Night, Jimmy."

"Sorry," Charlie said with a sheepish grin as he walked in carrying several shopping bags.

After Giana blew Jimmy a kiss, both doors across the living room closed.

"Did we wake you?" asked Jane worriedly, hugging her sister, several bags hanging from her hands. "Charlie forgot to bring a key with him."

"Of course, you bloody well woke us," Will said, glaring at them both and returning to the fireplace to hang the iron poker back up. "You banged on the door three bloody times."

"You freaked Will out," Lizzy said, wrinkling her nose. "He thought we had someone like the Santa Hat Serial Killer coming to do us all in."

"It could have been anyone," Will protested.

"Yeah, you'd think that somebody dangerous wouldn't knock on the front door if they felt like killing someone," Lizzy pointed out, grabbing some bags out of Jane's hands to help, "_and_ it makes _sense_ that it'd be Jane and Charlie, who called a couple hours ago to say that they'd be late. Admit it. You were scared."

Will scowled, and Lizzy laughed, turning back to Jane and Charlie. "Ignore him. He's going to pout.—So, how was the trip?" she asked Jane. "How many times were you delayed?"

Jane sighed, glancing over at Charlie, as he set his bags down on the couch and opened the fridge. "A lot."

"Bummer," Lizzy replied. "If you're still hungry, Charlie, we made you some plates."

Charlie pulled them out, two big blue Saran-wrapped plates with narrow yellow lumps on them. He squinted at them in the dark, snapped on the nearest set of light switches, and looked at them again. "Are these _omelets_?"

The kitchen glowed as the lightbulbs warmed up, and shadows stretched behind Lizzy and into the living room, as she came to the bar and took a seat on a stool, facing the kitchen. "Well, it was Giana's night to cook," she explained grinning, "and Jimmy promised to help her, and—"

"All the kid knows how to make is _omelets_," Will finished, coming to the bar and dropping onto the barstool on Lizzy's right side.

"Lay off the poor kid, Will," Charlie said, putting one of the plates in the microwave and then thinking better of it. "Jane, is this going to taste good reheated?"

Jane pressed her lips together, half-smiling, and shook her head.

"Pitch 'em and go for Maggie's leftover spaghetti," Lizzy offered. "I promise not to tell."

"Did we miss much? Staying in Bozeman all day?" Jane asked, leaning against the counter on her elbows.

"How was the skiing?" Charlie asked, taking the Tupperware containers of pasta and sauce out.

"Great," Lizzy replied grinning. "Will even taught me how to ski."

"But you know how to ski," Jane said confused, opening the cabinet with the dishware in it.

"Yeah, if he'd only let me _tell_ him that," Lizzy said grinning at Will and rubbing his back between the shoulder blades.

Will smiled back, very slightly.

"We ate lunch at a nice place with Fitz and Maggie," Lizzy continued. "We skied a little more, we came back had dinner. Fitz couldn't find any place around here that sold Christmas trees—"

"Really? But tomorrow's Christmas Eve," Charlie said, dishing pasta and sauce onto the two blue plates that Jane set on the counter.

Lizzy admired the way they moved together around the kitchen, how Chalrie leaned away from the counter so that Jane could open the silverware drawer at his waist, how Jane ducked when Charlie pulled the cabinet door wide above her head in his search for Saran Wrap. Lizzy framed a photograph absent-mindedly: of Jane bent slightly, smiling a little and watching Charlie reach, his face tilted up, his hand on his fiance's shoulder.

"Trust me," Lizzy said grinning. "Fitz was way more upset about it than you are. He was _determined_ to make sure Zarine has a tree for her second Christmas."

"You should've called," Jane said. "We could've gotten one while we were Christmas shopping in Bozeman."

Jane and Charlie both moved like they already knew where the other one was going. Lizzy wondered if Will noticed. She wondered if he noticed that he and Lizzy hadn't gotten that far yet. How could they, though, when they only saw each other two months out of fourteen?

"No, we definitely got one," Lizzy said, pointing at the little four-foot tree nestled between the piano and the window behind it and covered with hand-made snowflakes and spiraling strips of paper that gleamed in the half-light. "After it got dark, he snuck out into the backyard with Jimmy and a saw, and they came back with that little thing next to the piano."

"It's so cute!" Jane cried, as Charlie put one of the plates into the microwaves. "Did you make the decorations yourselves?"

"Yep," said Lizzy proudly. "Giana and I were feeling craftsy while we all sat around her computer watching YouTube."

"Lizzy even donated some of her prints to the cause," Will said, looking at her.

"You _didn't_," Jane said, almost horrified.

"They were all underexposed anyway," Lizzy said shrugging, watching Charlie scoop the two cold omelets in the garbage disposal. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

"What were you watching on YouTube?" Charlie asked.

Will sighed. "The stage career of Elizabeth Bennet."

"Oh, when you climbed onstage during that last B.F.D. concert?" Jane asked with a widening smile. "I _love_ that one."

"So you _also_ knew it was there," Will grumbled.

"You didn't? I watch it all the time," Jane said, and Lizzy wrinkled her nose in Will's direction, half-laughing.

The microwave beeped, and Charlie turned around and opened its door. "I didn't know we even taped it.--That's yours, by the way," Charlie told Jane, placing the plate in front of her and picking up the cold one in the microwave.

"What? _No_, Charlie," Jane protested. "You did all the work. It's yours."

"I made it for _you_," Charlie told her, putting a fork in her hand. "Eat, or you'll hurt my feelings."

"Look, Will," Lizzy said with a lazy smile. "We get to find out once and for all which one is the nicest."

Will snickered, and Jane scolded, "_Lizzy_."

"You know, you _could_ get _two_ forks and eat from the same plate," Lizzy suggested.

"The one in the microwave oven could be seconds," Will added with a small, tired grin.

Jane dug in the drawer for another fork and pressed it into Charlie's hand with a small, triumphant smile.

"I _still_ say that it would've been better if we had performed 'You Told Me' instead," Will said, folding his arms on top of the counter and laying his head down.

"Well, I _still_ refuse to sing that song with you," Lizzy retorted, as Charlie started tugging the Saran wrap off the plate. "No one knows the other side of the story except us, so I just come off sounding like a bitch. Besides, you guys had already performed that song in the first set. You would've sounded ridiculous if you repeated it."

"Not if you sang the bits you said and I did the rest," Will protested, closing his eyes.

"_No_," Lizzy said stubbornly.

"No one would have cared _what_ you sang if you'd agreed to marry him," Jane said.

"Oh no, Jane—not you too," Lizzy murmured, pretending to be horrorstruck. "My own sister."

"Lizzy, I think you're the only woman I know who would reject an onstage proposal," Charlie said with a very slight, very _disapproving_ frown. Lizzy raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, but she was quite right," Will said, settling his chin on his forearms, eyes closed, but facing Charlie's direction. "I knew better than to pressure her like that."

"Ooo, you just earned yourself a lot of points right there," Lizzy told him smiling, and Will grinned back briefly and yawned.

"Here," Jane said, trying to put a forkful of pasta into Charlie's slightly gaping mouth.

Charlie drew his head back, staring at her laden fork. "What?"

"Open your mouth please," Jane said smiling. Charlie sighed and opened his mouth, and when Jane put the fork inside, Charlie wrapped his hand around hers tenderly.

"Okay, if you two are going to start feeding each other, I think I'm going to go to bed, and I'm taking Will with me," Lizzy said, sliding off her stool. Will didn't move, his eyes closed, his head pillowed on his arms. "Will," she scolded, her hand on his shoulder.

"I'll get up in a moment," Will promised, burying his head further into his arms.

"No, you'll get up now," Lizzy said, kissing his cheek and taking his hand. "Come on."

Sighing, Will straightened up and let Lizzy tug him off the chair and toward their respective bedrooms.

"Goodnight!" Jane said.

"'Night—ooo, _careful_, Will," Lizzy said, guiding Will around an ottoman before he tripped over it. Will mumbled something in response, but Lizzy couldn't catch it. It was easier to see now with the kitchen throwing out light in front of them, but Will's eyes were half-closed and sleepy.

"Will, I'm pretty sure you _do_ need glasses," Lizzy told him, pulling him left away so that he didn't bump into a lamp-laden end table.

Will didn't respond, except with a slight frown, so Lizzy maneuvered him around the couches and armchairs and stopped him just in front of his door, telling him "Okay, Mr. Darcy. This is your stop. Hurry up and kiss me goodnight, so you can go to bed." He hugged her instead, tightly around the shoulders, and Lizzy laughed slightly and linked her arms around his waist. "Well, I guess this works too."

"I was wrong to ask you then, during the concert," Will said, his chin on top of her head. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Lizzy wanted, holding him back slightly so that she could squint up at him. "Have you been worrying about that all day?"

Something was wrong, she noticed. Will was frowning, which wasn't exactly unusual, but there wasn't a glare attached to that frown. And she couldn't get him to look her in the eye, even when she angled her face toward his.

It meant that something was bothering Will, and he didn't want to worry Lizzy with it. Yet.

Instead of answering, he took her right hand and looked at her. "Does it hurt?"

"Will, what's wrong?" Lizzy asked, beginning to worry.

"When I grabbed it. By the door. Did I hurt you?" Will asked, and Lizzy noticed that he was looking at the ring on her finger, sparkling in the kitchen's leftover light.

Lizzy glanced back at the kitchen, but Jane and Charlie were discussing something. Jane's face was intent, her lips pressed tight together. Neither of them had noticed that Will and Lizzy hadn't made it to bed yet.

"Well, first of all, it was my _left_ hand—" Lizzy told Will, and he immediately took her left hand and examined it. "Second, it doesn't hurt. Third, what's _wrong_, Will? You're freaking me out."

Will sighed heavily and let her go. "I'll just go to bed now," he said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

"_Will_—" Lizzy started, grabbing his arm so that he couldn't leave her yet.

"I'm all right, Lizzy," he said, kissing her quickly and looking away even faster. "I'm only very tired."

"I know that's not it," Lizzy said annoyed.

He opened his door, without looking at her. "Don't worry. I'll see you in the morning. I _am _sorry about your wrist. You were right; I was afraid."

"_Will_," Lizzy hissed again as he stepped inside his room.

"Hmm?" he said, returning her gaze with a tight smile, and Lizzy knew that she wasn't going to be able to get anything out of him that night.

What Lizzy really wanted was to argue with him some more, but instead she let go of his arm and sighed. "I love you," she said, "but you're going to have to tell me what's wrong sooner or later."

Will kissed her goodnight, long and slow, one hand—the one with the guitar calluses--cradling her cheek. "Fair enough," he told her.

Lizzy watched him for a moment frowning, took in his sad, stubborn face, and went to her own door and her own bed.

There was only one other time that Lizzy could remember Will acting this way: that summer at the Maine Coast. He had gotten quieter and quieter, asking her strange, disjointed questions, until finally he had stopped speaking to Lizzy altogether, becoming almost too distracted to even look at her. Lizzy, of course, had assumed that it was _her_, something _she'd_ done, and she'd responded how she usually did when she knew someone was upset with her and she thought she didn't deserve it. She was even planning to just leave until Charlie stepped in, explaining that Will's mother had died, around this time in late July but sixteen years before. Her car had driven off a seaside cliff and crashed into the surf below.

Lizzy found Will at the shore a little while later. He was sitting on a rock, seaweed washing in and drying below his feet, his hands supporting his weight behind him. He was frowning, only slightly, watching the water. She had stopped, just where she was, and taken a picture—the only one of Will that she loved and would never develop. He had turned when he heard the shutter click, had almost smiled when she sat down at his side and grasped his hand. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, listening to the loons call to each other on the water.

Then Will sighed and let his head rest on top of hers. She slid her arms around his waist in response.

"Charlie told you," he said.

"Yeah."

"I didn't ask him to."

Lizzy kissed him, tenderly, just where his jaw met his ear. "I know."

"She loved me. My mother," he explained. "That's what I remember best about her. Mum loved me and Giana very much, and I never felt that from Father."

Lizzy held him closer then, because she didn't know what to say. And then they never spoke about Will's mother after that day, except for a few very oblique references.

But that was the image that stayed with Lizzy when she lay in the dark, trying to sleep and listening to Giana's heavy breathing—the same one caught in the negative that she put in her darkroom's enlarger and stared at when the dreams woke her up, when she worried about Will the most. The image was this: Will in profile, sitting on a rock. The water throwing up light, just beyond the slight bump in his nose. And his face, frowning just slightly, just enough for Lizzy to worry.


	17. Day Three: Christmas Eve

_Author's Note: Sorry, everybody! I know it took me a pretty long time to update this time. Also, I didn't mean to leave you at a cliffhanger. _That_ one was accidental. The one for Day Four is purposeful, so I'll give you fair warning. The next update might not be for a while, but it's because I want to have most of Day Five written before I post Day Four. So I don't leave you at a cliffhanger for a long while. I've been trying to write a little bit at a time, but it should be by the end of the month. _

_Also, credit and thanks goes to Eyes-of-Pearl for suggesting I bring back Charlotte's painting. It was a great idea, and I had to use it._

7.

Lizzy stepped out of her room the next morning at almost nine o'clock, rubbing her eyes and yawning, her brown hair wild and almost curly around her head, her face flushed and her lips swollen with sleep. Even with the crease her pillow had left on her cheek, Will couldn't help but think that she was beautiful, especially when she dropped her hands and raised her bright, long-lashed eyes to blink at the bright room, a slight frown between her eyebrows.

"So--you're awake now," Giana said, sitting on the couch and scowling, a mug of coffee between her hands. "Finally."

"_You're_ awake," Lizzy replied smiling. Sleep still clung thickly to her voice. "Usually you sleep in a little more. Sometimes we have to throw stuff at you to wake you up."

"I've _been_ up forever, because _someone_ woke me up at seven," Giana sniffed, turning her face away primly. "Someone who moved about, shook the _entire_ bed, _and_ stole _all_ the bloody covers."

Lizzy grimaced apologetically. "Sorry."

"Will," Giana said, turning toward him quickly where he stood leaning against the window. Will wasn't sure if she had caught him watching them both. "Would you like to switch roommates? I like yours _loads_ better than mine."

"Hey," Lizzy scolded quietly, mussing Giana's dark hair and stepping around the couch toward Will. "Keep that up, and you'll hurt my feelings."

Will smiled, watching her walk toward him, her arms stretched out wide. The bright polka dots on her black pajamas bounced with each step, and her hair fell out of her face as she angled her face up towards his. He set his coffee mug on the windowsill so that when she hugged him, tightly, around his waist, he could return the favor. There, with her arms around him, her chin on his shoulder, and her chest pressing into his with each breath, Will felt immediately much better. Then he couldn't keep himself from sighing. Whenever she was with him, he couldn't quite remember how he managed without her.

"Hi," Lizzy said, leaning into him. Even her weight felt reassuring against him.

"Good morning," Will replied. His voice always seemed so quiet after hers.

"That too," she said and reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He smiled as she turned toward the kitchen and watched as she almost immediately banged into the Christmas tree hiding behind the piano. They both leapt forward and grasped its top branches to keep it from tipping over.

Lizzy turned to him slowly, over the star that Giana had glued together for the top, eyes wide and mischievous. Will expected her to laugh then, but instead, she grabbed him tightly, her arms around his neck, and kissed him stoutly on the cheek. "Merry Christmas Eve!" she told him cheerfully. Before Will had a chance to a steal a deeper kiss, she was heading toward the kitchen again, where her sister was cooking eggs over the stove.

"Morning, Janey," said Lizzy, giving her sister a one-armed hug and grinning.

Jane smiled a little, still watching her eggs. "Morning."

"You seem to be short one fiancé," Lizzy told her, finding a mug and picking up a coffee pot.

"He's upstairs, taking a shower," Jane replied.

"Yeah?" said Lizzy, stirring sugar into her coffee and glancing around. "Where _is_ everybody else?"

Giana waved from the couch, eyebrows raised mockingly high. "Right here."

Jimmy was sitting just next to her, smiling fondly.

"I was referring to the _other_ redhead, the manager, and the baby," Lizzy retorted, sipping her coffee and winking at Will to show him that she'd noticed his attention.

"We haven't seen them yet," Will replied.

"Hmm," said Lizzy thoughtfully, glancing behind her. Will realized she was looking at the clock on the microwave. "Well," she added, opening the cabinet and drawing out a box of cereal—so mangled that it made Will smile, "we should see them soon, especially if the guest cottage doesn't have a well-stocked kitchenette."

"Zarine will probably start to complain soon," Giana agreed.

"Yeah, probably," said Lizzy smirking as she poured her cereal into a bowl, "but I was thinking Fitz."

It occurred to Will that Lizzy had absolutely no idea the effect she had on a room. She didn't know that the room had been completely silent before she'd entered it. Everyone had sat quietly sipping from their respective hot beverages. The only noise had been Jane's work at the stovetop. They had all minded their own business before Lizzy had arrived and stuck her nose into it. Not that it was a problem, of course. Will rather preferred things this way.

"Ooo, Lizzy," said Jane, turning partway around from the stovetop.

"What?" Lizzy looked over her shoulder, peering at Jane's hands. "You burn yourself?"

Jane was smiling, a smile that looked remarkably like her sister's, in Lizzy's most unguarded moments. "No. It's just—I've got something upstairs I want to show you. Would you mind watching the eggs while I get it? It won't take me long, and this is almost done anyhow."

Will wondered mildly if they ever fought—the Bennet twins. He couldn't imagine it, not a long fight certainly, never a loud one: Jane was too placid, Lizzy too protective--of her sister, at least.

"Sure," Lizzy replied, leaving her own breakfast to tend to Jane's. "What are we making?"

"Scrambled eggs," Jane explained, opening the fridge and pulling out a bag of grated cheddar. "With cheese. Charlie likes them really well done."

Lizzy glanced at her sister sharply, and Will realized that while she didn't mind cooking for Jane, fixing Charlie eggs was pushing it. But all Lizzy said was "Got it. Scrambled. Cheesy. And kinda dry."

Will suspected that Lizzy had always been able to hold her temper for her twin sister. Or perhaps she had to learn. Perhaps _he_ could learn. For Giana.

Will glanced again at his sister and her boyfriend on the couch, and he was rather proud of himself when it hardly bothered him at all, seeing them hold each other's hands. He knew intuitively that he was being absurd about all of it; he didn't need Lizzy to tell him so. He supposed it didn't help that the boy looked rather like Wickham in his younger years: the light, scraggly hair; the pointed chin; even the same loping walk.

Then again, it might not be that either. It might have more to do with the fact that there was no way of knowing how much Jimmy _knew_ about Wickham. Or how the boy would handle it if he found out. _When_ he found out. Will wasn't quite sure how well he might've reacted if a girl had told him a story like Giana and Wickham's. But then again, Will was forced to admit that he had been a bit of a bastard when he was Jimmy's age. If he didn't admit it, Charlie would—

Jimmy glanced up and noticed Will's attention. Will made an effort to smile, but Jimmy wasn't sending him the same patient stare that Will had grown to expect over the past two days. Instead Jimmy was frowning, just slightly, just enough for Will to frown back.

The front door crashed open to Will's left, and Fitz strode in, his red hair in several directions, his daughter sitting on his hip. "It's Christmas Eve!" he declared, "and Santa's little helper has come to visit."

Zarine, Will noticed, was wearing a miniature Santa Suit that seemed to be made entirely of flannel. She even had a small red hat to complete the outfit, one that she was currently trying to take off, her little fingers fumbling at the elastic strap under her chin.

Maggie came in behind them and shut the door, a brown shopping bag full of wrapped presents hanging from her hand. "I just want everyone to know that I had no part in Zarine's dress code today. Fitz found it, bought it, and fought Zarine to put it on her this morning."

Lizzy smirked, looking up from her eggs and watching Zarine's third attempt to pull off her hat. This one was successful. "You're going to be one of those dads who gets a cute little white convertible for his daughter's sixteenth birthday, aren't you?"

"I'll make sure that it has a roll bar, at least," Fitz replied pouting and struggling one-handed to put Zarine's hat back on.

"Stop it, Fitz," Maggie told him, coming to the Christmas tree to put the first presents under the tree. "If she doesn't want to wear it, don't make her. Otherwise, she'll start screaming again."

Fitz sighed heavily, looking at Zarine, who had apparently already had enough of her father that morning and was struggling fussily to get down. "What d'you think, Zarine? You think I should wear the hat?"

"Oh! How cute!" cried Jane. She was standing at the bottom of the steps, a magazine rolled in her hand, as she smiled at Zarine. Charlie was just behind her and grinning too, barefoot but already dressed to ski in a turtleneck and ski pants.

"Nice to know that someone here has good taste," Fitz grumbled, setting Zarine on the floor. In her new freedom, Zarine chose to walk under the piano toward her mother, grasping at the presents already under the tree.

"That's for tomorrow, babe," Maggie told her smiling.

Fitz made himself busy giving Jane and Charlie a warm welcome. "You got in! You're alive! We were worried there for a second."

"You were not," Lizzy retorted, turning around from the stovetop. "_I_ was. That's why I called."

"Ooo, the eggs!" cried Jane, rushing in the kitchen to take over. Lizzy stepped out of the way just in time to let Charlie follow her, more sedately, to put one arm around his fiancé and to use the other to retrieve two plates from the cabinet. Lizzy returned immediately to her coffee, gulping down almost half a mug and popping some cereal in her mouth. While she was chewing, she looked towards Will and winked to let him know that she noticed his attention. He smiled slowly back but sat down at the piano bench to give his hands something to do. He tried to pluck out 'Palladio,' but he wasn't sure if he remembered it.

"We are _so_ happy to see you, Princess Jane," Fitz was telling Jane at the stove. "Your presence was sorely missed."

Will still couldn't understand why Fitz had taken to calling Jane a princess to her face, but he knew from the glare Lizzy threw at him that it wasn't the kindest of endearments.

"Why?" Jane asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

"We needed someone here to keep Lizzy in line," Fitz explained, and Will grinned as he watched Lizzy turn around, lift her foot, and kick Fitz in the butt. "Oww!"

"You deserved that," Lizzy told him curtly, picking up her cereal bowl and coffee mug with mock-decorum and grinning as Giana started giggling.

"Absolutely," Maggie agreed, guiding Zarine's hands gently away from the presents.

"Yesterday," Fitz continued spitefully, "there was a battle in the kitchen. Blood was shed. Homes were destroyed."

"Don't exaggerate," Lizzy said, halfway across the living room already. "We only lost a little Life. _Cereal_," she explained laughing at Jane's startled face.

"Do you see that box?" Fitz asked Jane, nodding at the mangled object that Lizzy'd forgotten to put away. "That was first casualty. Do you want to be responsible for what'll happen if we let Lizzy fight with Will again?"

"I don't think I could ever stop Lizzy from fighting with Will," Jane said, dishing scrambled eggs onto the two plates that Charlie was holding up for her.

"Good call, Jane," Lizzy said and turned to the couch's occupants, her hands full. "Hey, Giana—see that coaster?" Giana nodded; she even picked it up. Will shook his head slightly, amazed. He could never get his sister to help him without complaining. "Do me a favor? Can you put that in my mouth?" Lizzy asked, and Giana snorted but did it. Jimmy grinned at them both as Lizzy nodded her thanks, the wooden coaster between her teeth, and turned back toward the piano.

"Please?" Fitz asked Jane. "Try? For the sake of our sanities?"

"There's nothing I can do, not when they both like it so much," Jane explained, putting the empty skillet back on the stovetop and taking one of the plates from Charlie.

"You _like_ it?" Giana repeated, turning to stare at Will and Lizzy open-mouthed.

"Sure, they do," said Charlie grinning, as Jane handed him a fork. "Otherwise, they would've grown out of it by now."

Lizzy had reached Will by this time, standing just in front of him and flapping the coaster at him. He took it gently from between her teeth and placed it on top of the piano so that she could set down her coffee mug and take a seat next to him.

"How 'bout it, Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy said grinning at him, and she tossed cereal into the air and caught it in her mouth. Will considered snatching the cereal mid-air; he wondered if it was worth the argument that would follow. "You like fighting with me?"

"I suppose," Will said thoughtfully, moving his fingers lazily through some broken chords. "If it's not in earnest."

"Yeah, I guess I kinda like it too," Lizzy said, settling herself a little more comfortably on the piano bench, a little closer to Will.

"You know," Jane said, removing a fork from her smiling mouth, "I never thought they'd admit it."

"Will, you starting to feel like a guinea pig?" Lizzy asked him with a mock-serious smile. "Because I'm starting to think there's a research project we don't know about—with all these various hypothesizes our colleagues seem to be throwing out."

Will smiled, and Giana said mildly, "I suppose that's our cue to stop teasing them."

"Bingo!" said Lizzy smiling over at her. "Point for Giana!"

Will continued to pluck out fragments of the tunes he could remember, fell in upon Moonlight Sonata, and noticed that Zarine had joined them.

"Hey, little elf," Lizzy told Zarine smiling, scooping up a handful of Life. "You want some cereal? Be careful, though—it's got sharp edges. And don't tell your mom—I think it has more sugar than you're allowed to have."

Will watched Zarine munch on the cereal a little, just enough to get the edges gooey, and then try to hand it back to Lizzy with very wide eyes.

"I guess you don't like it," Lizzy said with a sigh. "Bummer."

"It's because it doesn't have milk," Will told her with a small smirk.

Lizzy turned to him, chin raised almost defiantly, and said in her best English accent, "I don't _fancy_ it with milk." Will laughed, despite himself. "Oh, the accent's that bad then."

"I suppose you might have to listen to me more," Will replied grinning.

Lizzy snorted, reaching for her coffee mug. "Not much chance of that."

"Lizzy!" said Jane, dropping her plate to the kitchen table with a clatter and scrambling up. "Before I forget, the magazine—"

Lizzy dragged herself to her feet, kissed the top of Will's head, and told him, "Be right back." She met her sister at the kitchen counter and watched Jane flip through the magazine brought from upstairs.

"Here it is," Jane cried triumphantly, holding the magazine up to Lizzy. Across the room, Will could just barely make out a portrait painting on the right page, laden with browns and blues.

"Oh," murmured Lizzy.

"'_Oh'_? Is that all you've got to say?" Jane asked impatiently with a wide smile. "Did you read the caption at the bottom?"

Lizzy wrinkled her nose and said with an apologetic smile, "Jane, I forgot to tell you: Charlotte submitted a portrait of me to the Cinderbells Gallery in New York, _and_ they accepted it."

"You already _knew_?" Jane said aghast.

"Charlotte," repeated Fitz, frowning at his wife, as Maggie chased after Zarine. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"I didn't know that the gallery used that painting for an ad in—" Lizzy stopped to lift the magazine and read its spine "—_Art and Antiques_ magazine."

"Beats me," Maggie said shrugging and handing Zarine to Fitz so that she could pull out the high chair out of the closet. "An old groupie friend, maybe?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jane said accusingly.

"Have you checked your voicemail?" Lizzy asked her sister. "Because you should have about a million messages there that go: _Hey, Jane. It's Lizzy. Again. Got some good news to tell you. Call me back_."

"Charlotte Lucas," Will explained to Fitz. "We met her at Rosings. Cropped hair. Blonde. Dressed almost exactly like Aunt Catherine."

Jane sighed. "I'm sorry. I've just been so busy."

"_Aww_, Collins' wife?" Fitz said grimacing. In her high chair, Zarine started to fuss, screaming much more loudly than Will would've supposed possible. Maggie poured some Cheerios in front of the baby to distract her. "You two are friends with her?"

"No, not anymore actually," Lizzy said happily.

"Lizzy, that's not nice," Jane scolded. "Of _course_, we're still friends with Charlotte."

"No, she's no longer _Collin's wife_," Lizzy told her sister.

"_Really_?" cried Jane delighted, and when Lizzy nodded, Jane hugged her sister so tightly that Lizzy laughed.

"Who's this Collins fellow?" asked Giana. "Why don't we like him?"

"Remember that little, bald guy that kept kissing Aunt Catherine's ass at Thanksgiving?" Fitz told her.

Giana frowned a little, trying to remember, and then her eyes and mouth grew wide. "He was _married_? Dis_gust_ing." Will noticed Jimmy laughing silently beside her.

"Well, _technically_, he still is," Lizzy said. "They've just separated for now. Charlotte was crashing at my place until the divorce went through."

"I can't believe I didn't know about this," Jane said, glancing over at the kitchen table as Charlie picked up his empty plate and Jane's and headed toward the sink. "Charlie, I'm not done yet," she said quickly, and Charlie looked down sheepishly at the eggs still on his fiancé's plate and handed it to her.

"I still can't believe he found someone to marry him," Giana confided to Jimmy. "He was this ugly, little runt of a man, who talked like a catalog and thought my aunt hung the moon."

"You're letting her stay in your apartment?" Will asked Lizzy, frowning.

Lizzy turned to him, not quite glaring yet, but Will knew that she was ready to do so, if needed. "You wanna fight about it?"

"Not at the moment, no," Will replied and half-smiled when Giana giggled.

"Then I suggest you don't try to tell me what to do with my own apartment," Lizzy told him sharply.

Will turned back to his piano keys, silent but worrying. Charlotte was the type of friend to ask for help, assuring that it would only be until she got on her feet, but then stay for months without helping with the rent. And Lizzy was the type of friend to let her.

"Will," Lizzy said, and when Will turned, Lizzy was smirking at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's moving in with her boyfriend before New Years."

He smiled, not exactly comforted, because he suspected that there wasn't a very good chance that Charlotte would be able to keep said boyfriend for very long. But he liked that Lizzy tried.

Jane was in the kitchen, finishing her eggs as Charlie loaded the dishwasher, dropping her head to his shoulder. "I feel so out of the loop," she complained, and Charlie kissed the top of her head, right along the part in her red hair.

"Do you want to see Will?" Lizzy asked, picking up the magazine from the counter and walking to him. "It's the same portrait that we saw when we were snooping a couple years ago."

It was almost exactly like Will remembered it, the same bold lines shaping a face remarkably like Lizzy's, her hair around her shoulders, her stubbornness around her mouth. The only thing that he saw changed was that the eyes seemed less tired, more defiant.

"It's pretty good, isn't it?" Lizzy said, grinning at him.

"She has a good subject," Will replied, smiling slightly.

Lizzy rolled her eyes and started to sit down, but Giana said, "I want to see it."

So, Lizzy walked over and delivered the magazine, and Giana and Jimmy immediately bent over it.

"Oh," Giana said.

"It's you," said Jimmy, looking at Lizzy as she took a seat next to Will.

"She already said that," Giana reminded him.

"Oops," Jimmy said with an unapologetic grin.

"Yep," Lizzy replied, reaching for her coffee again and putting it back down with a grimace. "Boo. It's cold."

"You could get more," Will said, glancing at her as she ate from her cereal bowl sullenly.

"I just sat down," Lizzy reminded him.

"I'll get it then," Will offered, stopping his playing and beginning to stand, but Lizzy grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"The benefits of this seat go way down if you leave," Lizzy explained to him smirking. "I didn't come over here because I like un-cushioned piano benches."

Will couldn't keep himself from smiling, widely, like a fool, as Lizzy leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Giana noticed, apparently. "Aww—look, Jimmy," she said. "Lizzy made Will blush."

"She does that a lot," Fitz agreed without looking up, trying to tempt Zarine with a baby spoon laden with something pureed and orange. "Didn't you see him yesterday?"

"_Do_ we need to get up?" Will asked Giana. "Your Juilliard auditions are next month. Shouldn't you be practicing?"

"Don't tell her what to do," Jimmy said shortly.

Will was so shocked that he could only stare at the scowling boy for several seconds, and it took him a little longer than normal to notice that the room had gone silent around him, that most of its occupants were watching him. He glanced at Lizzy first, saw her bright, worried eyes, and looked back to Giana, who was telling Jimmy in her gentlest voice, "It's all right, Jimmy. I probably _should_ practice; I've only got a few weeks."

Will got up quickly, taking Lizzy's mug with him, and relocated to the kitchen where Charlie and Jane shuffled out of his way. He was only mildly surprised when Lizzy followed him, her cereal bowl cradled in her palm, watching him dump out the cold coffee in the sink and pour her a fresh cup.

He set it gently on the counter in front of her, glancing over at the piano as Giana sat at the piano bench, her long fingers spreading over the keys and beginning a concerto that Will knew he should recognize but didn't. "I don't quite remember what you put in it," he told Lizzy, nodding at the mug.

"Thanks," she said, still watching him.

"Was I—" he began and stopped. "Was I being unkind? Belligerant? Unreasonable?"

"Nope," Lizzy replied. "That time, you were pretty reasonable. I've got no complaints."

Will glanced back at Jimmy, who was _definitely_ frowning at him now. Will looked away, to Lizzy, who was _also_ frowning. In her most worried way. "You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Will replied with a brief smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you normally don't ask," Lizzy said, leaning forward slightly. "Normally I have to just tell you."

"Scold me, you mean."

"Well," Lizzy said slowly, putting her bowl down next to her mug, "yeah."

Will looked back to Jimmy, but the boy had already turned away, watching Giana at the piano. Will turned again to Lizzy, when he felt her arms slide around his waist.

"Hey," she said, looking up at him.

"Hmm?" he replied.

"Who loves you?" she asked, and it occurred to Will that she was trying to cheer him up.

Will smiled, kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "You do."

"That's right."

"Marry me," Will said hopefully, tucking a strand over her hair behind her ear.

Lizzy responded with a sly, challengingly smile. "Tell me what's really the matter."

Will only sighed heavily.

"Thought so," Lizzy said, kissing him quickly and letting him go. Will watched her pull her coffee mug toward her,the sugar bowl following soon after, and turn to him thoughtfully, her eyebrows raised and waiting.

But Will couldn't think how to phrase it, not without sounding like an complete idiot.

8.

Lizzy gasped and stopped so quickly that Will had to swerve sharply on his skis to avoid a collision. "Sorry," she told him, pulling off her glove with her teeth and groping into her jacket for her camera. "Hold on just a sec."

This was maybe the fifth time she'd stopped him in an hour. Lizzy knew she was probably beginning to wear on Will's patience (the others had skied off and left them behind hours ago), but once she noticed a shot—the mountain face cast half in a cloud's shadow, the other half in bright noonday sunlight, the snow sparkling under the trees—she really couldn't ignore it. When she'd taken half a dozen pictures, she turned and caught a three-quarter portrait of Will, his face angled up, the mountains looming behind him.

He turned to her, and it worried her that he didn't smile. He _usually _smiled. "Lizzy, what did you tell Giana?" he asked.

"When?" Lizzy chirped, returning her camera to the pocket inside her jacket. "There's a lot of things I've told Giana."

"This morning," he said. "When I went to get dressed. Both of you were on the couch."

Lizzy smirked. "I _thought_ I saw you trying to eavesdrop."

Will ignored that. He didn't even roll his eyes. "What did you both talk about?"

"You," Lizzy said, and when she saw Will drop his eyes to the snow between his skis and nod slightly, Lizzy knew he'd already guessed as much. "Are you wanting a summary or a play-by-play?"

Will dug his ski pole in the snow next to him, drew it out, and looked in the hole he'd made. "I don't know."

Lizzy zipped up her jacket and started tugging her gloves back on. "I asked her if she knew what was wrong with you."

That was Will's cue to tell her, but as Lizzy almost guessed, he didn't take it. "What did she say?"

"That you didn't seem to like Jimmy all that much," Lizzy replied and heard Will tisk softly under his breath. "I said you didn't _know_ Jimmy."

Lizzy chose not to mention that she'd also explained to Giana that the problem wasn't so much Jimmy himself, but the fact that Giana hadn't _told_ Will _about _Jimmy. She'd also tried to explain that Will was hurt because his sister didn't trust him enough to tell him something like that, but she wasn't sure how well Giana had understood.

"That's true, I suppose," said Will, kicking his skis. The snow on their tops flew above their heads. Lizzy felt it settle coldly under the collar of her jacket, on the back of her neck.

"Oh, and she also asked me to talk to you again," Lizzy said, glancing up the slope.

"But you _have_ spoken to me," Will protested. "On numerous occasions."

"That's what I told her. And because I refuse to play intermediary between two _grown_ siblings for the rest of my life," said Lizzy, squinting up at the top of the slope, watching three figures up there ski to a stop, "I also told her to talk to you herself. So, head's up on that one; you might have a heart-to-heart coming in your near fut—well, _shit_," Lizzy muttered, as the figures at the top of the hill began to ski down toward them. "That trail," she ordered, pointing to their left. "Quick. Maybe they haven't recognized us."

Will sent Lizzy a bewildered frown, but he followed her, twenty meters across the hill, to the small trail carved, hidden among the trees. "Now squat down," Lizzy told him, ducking down next to a snowdrift, adjusting the branches in front of her to hide them better.

"Lizzy—" Will started impatiently.

"Squat_ down,_" Lizzy insisted, grabbing his arm and tugging him behind her. "_You're_ the one they're going to recognize."

"Who?" Will asked, and Lizzy noticed him squinting at the figures through the trees.

"_Them_," said Lizzy, pointing out the three female skiers, two in black and one in pink. Lizzy focused on the one in front, gliding elegantly down the mountain, her violet scarf streaming behind her. "The Harpy and the Bingley sisters. I _really_ don't want to deal with them right now, and I'm willing to hide to avoid them."

"It's impossible for them to have recognized us at that distance," Will scoffed behind Lizzy.

"How would you know? We've already established that you need glasses," Lizzy remembered him. "And I recognized _them_, didn't I?" Lizzy stopped and pressed her lips together tightly while the three figures skied directly past the trail opening. Lizzy let loose a sigh when not one of them looked over. "Besides, we know that Desi Harper memorized what your jacket looks like. I found her number in your jacket pocket, by the way. She added a lot of hearts. A _disgusting_ amount."

"When were you in my jacket?"

"This morning. Right before we left. You asked me to find your wallet, remember?" Lizzy said, watching with relief as the trio skied the rest of the way down the hill without stopping. "I hope you didn't want it. Because I burnt it. Fodder for the fireplace."

"I'm trying to think—When could she have found the chance—"

"At the lodge yesterday," Lizzy reminded him, looking to make sure that Desi Harper and the two Bingleys had made it down the slope before standing straight and reaching up high to stretch her cramped quads. "When you hung your jacket in the lobby closet. She probably slipped it in when we went to our table and they were waiting for Caroline. Stupid Harpy," she muttered. "Harpy, the Hussy."

Will followed Lizzy as she shuffled back toward the slope. She noticed him watching her as her gaze followed the figures zip down the last of the slope and around the bend, out of sight. "I _didn't_ want it. The number."

"Good answer," Lizzy said, looking over her shoulder so that he could see her smiling. "But that still doesn't mean that I want to see them.—Do you want to hide out at the cabin for a while? I doubt anyone's there. We could eat lunch and hit the sack," she suggested with a hint of a smirk.

"You want to take a nap already?" Will asked frowning. "You didn't wake up but five hours ago."

"Well, _sleeping_ wasn't what I had in mind," Lizzy told him and laughed when she noticed Will's mouth drop slightly. "We've been dating for way too long for that to shock you. Come on," she added, shoving herself forward with her poles and starting down the mountain. "I'll race you back."

Will won. Which was fine with Lizzy since he had the key and had to unlock the door to the mudroom anyway. He was already at the bench, unsnapping the latches on his boots, his jacket hanging from a hook above his head, when she clomped in. He was kissing her, unzipping her jacket and pushing it off her shoulders before she'd managed to get her second boot off.

And for all his other faults, Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy was a _very_ good kisser.

Lizzy laughed softly against his mouth, using her socked foot to shove the last unbuckled boot off her foot. Then she let him draw her to her feet, her hand cradling the back of his neck, angling his head toward hers, his arm clamped around the small of her back, pressing her to him. Will began to maneuver them toward the door that opened into the living room, and when they stumbled over a few discarded boots, Lizzy laughed again. Will kept them from falling, catching their weight with a hand thrown against the wall behind them, and Lizzy groped for the door handle, found it, and pushed it silently open.

Then, she broke the kiss, turned partway around. When Will tried to reclaim her mouth, Lizzy covered _his_ mouth with one hand, then both of them, so she could listen. She heard the murmur of the TV, some sort of talk show, and then:

"_Shit!"_ A boy's voice. "Your feet are like ice!"

"I know," replied another voice. A girl. A _British_ girl. "That's why I'm using you to warm them up?"

"Jimmy," Lizzy mouthed to Will, "and Giana."

"Is that all I am to you?" they heard Jimmy ask. "A foot-warmer?"

Will glared at Lizzy over her hands to let her know how much he wasn't enjoying the situation. Lizzy moved one of her hands from his mouth to her own to muffle her laughter.

"Absolutely," Giana replied. Do you know how many boys I had to test out to find you? You've just the right warmth. Here, behind your knees."

Will's shoulders slumped, and he scowled first at the small crack between the door and the wall, then at Lizzy, and then at the floor.

"I guess I'm okay with that," Jimmy replied.

There was a brief pause—Lizzy guessed that meant that the couple in the living room was kissing, but she was hoping Will wouldn't notice. "Well," Lizzy whispered, as quietly as she could, "do you want to go in there and eat? Or just go?"

Will grasped Lizzy's wrist and pulled her hand from his mouth, kissing her palm gently.

"After all," they heard Jimmy add, "I'm just dating you for your hot accent."

Lizzy grinned and pointed at herself. "Me, too."

Will rolled his eyes, on the verge of letting himself smile, and sat on the mudroom's bench again. Lizzy collected his ski boots—dark green and black, with silver buckles—and held them out to him. From the annoyed look on Will's face, Lizzy guessed that he had figured out that the quieter moments meant his sister was kissing her boyfriend.

"No," Lizzy heard Jimmy say abruptly.

"Why not?" Giana complained.

The kissing sounds were audible now, and Will's face darkened accordingly. Lizzy wondered if she was going to have to figure out a way to hold him back.

"Giana, _no_."

"Noone's _here_, Jimmy. Come on.—Oof."

From the sound of things, Lizzy was pretty sure that Jimmy had sat up and Giana had fallen off him. To distract Will's intent listening, Lizzy pushed his ski boots into his hands, and Will looked up her with a worried frown.

"Yeah," Jimmy said slowly, "but if we get caught, _you're_ the victim, and _I'm_ the sex offender. Okay?"

Lizzy mentally applauded Jimmy, and Will distractedly began bending the buckles out of the way so that he could pull his boot back on.

"I'm sorry about my brother."

Hearing Giana sound so serious, Will looked sharply up at Lizzy standing above him of him, and she smiled softly, comfortingly, and stroked his cheek.

"Jimmy?"

"Will doesn't bother me," Jimmy replied, and Will scowled at the partially open door as if he was _planning_ to bother Jimmy, just for that.

Giana was almost laughing. "Liar."

Lizzy heard Giana kiss Jimmy again, and so did Will. He half rose from the bench, but Lizzy pushed him back down and pointed to his boot.

Jimmy amended, "Well, yeah—but he's not at the top of the list."

"You let me know who's at the top of the list," Giana said with a smug bravado, as Will placed his boot on the floor quietly and raised his foot to shove into it, "and I'll beat them up for you."

"Liar," answered Jimmy sadly, and Lizzy turned to the door, worrying.

"Don't say that," Giana said sharply.

"It's fine, Giana."

"It _isn't_ fine."

In the half-instant of silence that followed, Will was up and side-stepping Lizzy so that he could burst into the living room announcing, "Jimmy, we're going to go ski together."

"Will, no!" Giana snapped, and Lizzy hurried to catch up with him.

When she reached the living room, Will was standing over the couch, over both of the kids, Giana open-mouthed and furious, Jimmy looking frustrated and resigned.

"We're going skiing," Will repeated to Jimmy.

"Will, don't be a shit," Lizzy told him, crossing her arms, but Will was watching Jimmy, who was looking back with a set jaw and a glare that almost matched Will's.

Then Jimmy stood abruptly, looked from Will to Giana, and walked across the living room and through the door of the room he shared with Will.

Giana was on her knees on the couch cushion, leaning over the back of it, watching her boyfriend walk away. "Will_—" _

Will glanced at Giana, waited for a moment, watching her as she scowled, and then he turned to Lizzy, starting "I'm only—"

"Will, _no_—" Giana cried, jumping to her feet. She stood just about at Will's shoulder, but both her fists were clenched, and her chin was raised defiantly. "Why the bloody _hell_ do we have to do whatever _you_ feel like? What makes you _think_ that you can take Jimmy out and try to scare him away? What the bloody fuck is wrong with _me_—that it's okay for you to be happy with _Lizzy _but _I _can't be happy with Jimmy? What _is_ it?"

Will tilted his head forward to stare at his sister, glanced at Lizzy, and then back again, trying to say "I—"

"I made one mistake, _one_," Giana reminded her brother, eyes narrowed. "Granted it was a rather _impressive_ one, but it was _mine_." Lizzy glanced at Will. He was paler now, his mouth only slightly open. "_Jimmy_ had nothing to do with it. And I'm _older_ than I was, and I'm smarter, and Jimmy _knows_, and he _doesn't care_. So why do you? You _bastard_, you bleeding idiot, you—"

She was crying now, even with her teeth almost bared and her eyes narrowed to slits, and Will took one step forward. "Giana," he began worriedly.

Giana stepped back, tossing her hair from her face. "No, you can't _fix_ it, Will," she snapped. "I don't bloody well _need_ you to fix me. I can _manage._ You don't have to bloody well have to tiptoe around bloody Wickham. Jimmy knows, he doesn't _care_, and I love him for it, you bastard." She took a deep breath, paused just long enough to wipe a tear from her cheek with her fist. "You're my brother. Why can't you just be _happy_ for me?"

Lizzy noticed that Jimmy was standing in his bedroom doorway, a long black sock hanging from either hand. He was beaming, happier than Lizzy had ever seen him.

She glanced at Will next, noticing his frown, his worried eyes, his mouth open and vulnerable, and she took his hand and squeezed it sympathetically.

Giana was striding to Jimmy, her chin lowered determinedly. "I _love_ you," she told him fiercely. "Did you know that?"

Jimmy nodded, hugging her as soon as she was close enough, a sock still dangling from either hand. He kissed the top of her head and told her, "I love you too."

When they started murmuring to each other, Will turned to lean his weight against the couch, eyes averted again and frowning, holding Lizzy's hand tightly. Lizzy brushed his hair from his face and waited.

"I wasn't really…" Will told her. "I was only going to talk to him, man-to-man and such. Try to get to know him better. I would have been good," he promised, looking anxiously into Lizzy's face.

She smiled. "I know."

"Am I really so much of a tyrant--?" Will began to ask, but before Lizzy could answer, Giana had turned from Lizzy and was looking at her brother, a little bit defiant still but more concerned.

"I'm sorry. Didn't really mean it," she explained and paused to think about it. "Well, I didn't mean _all_ of it anyway."

Will nodded at her, half-smiling to reassure her, and Giana tried to smile back.

"Do you really want to go?" Jimmy asked Will, his hand in Giana's.

"Please," Will replied with a sheepish half-smile. "If you don't mind."

Lizzy wasn't sure, but she thought Jimmy grinned suddenly and then rubbed his mouth to hide it. "Sure," he said and sat down on the nearest armchair to put on his socks.

Lizzy hugged Will tightly, because he looked like he needed it. When she felt his chin drop to her shoulder, she told him, "We're re-assessing the roommate situation while you're gone."

Will drew back, alarmed.

"Oh, _let's_," said Giana, taking the tissue that Jimmy was offering her and wiping her eyes. "I want to sleep in a bed where I won't lose the blanket."

"Besides," Lizzy told Will, "you're neater."

Will shrugged and nodded.

When Jimmy and Will had gone skiing down the trail toward the run and Lizzy and Giana were packing things up in their room, Giana asked quietly, "Is he all right? Will, I mean."

"Hmm," said Lizzy thoughtfully, folding Giana's pajamas and dropping them in her duffle. "You went kind of overboard and hurt his feelings. I'd give him a hug maybe, when he gets back."

Giana stuffed her clothes further into her duffle, frowning, looking exactly like Will when he was worried that he'd done something wrong.

"He'll get over it," Lizzy assured her, picking up one of the turtlenecks Giana had thrown over a chair and folding it. "This time next week he'll be proud of you."

Giana turned to Lizzy grinning. "He'll just say it's _your_ influence."

Lizzy snorted, scooping three more shirts off the floor.

"It's true," Giana said smugly. "Two years ago, when we were here, he wouldn't stop talking about you. Kept telling me what a role model you'd be."

"Cute," Lizzy said with a grimace.

"If I could pick to have any sister in the world," Giana said quietly, not looking at Lizzy, "it'd be you."

Lizzy stared at Giana, not sure what to say, except "Thank you."

"Why won't you marry him, Lizzy?" Giana asked her, hitching her chin upwards to look at Lizzy. "Seriously now."

Lizzy sighed. "I'm not ready to be a wife," she said, "and Will is _definitely_ not ready to be a husband."

"Then, why you tell him that you _will_ marry him someday?" Giana asked. "That's really all he wants."

"That is _not_ all he wants," Lizzy protested. "The second I tell him that I'll marry him, then he'll be pushing me to set a date _and_ plan a wedding _and_ pick a house _and _move _and—_"

"He wants to be sure that one day, you won't leave him so angry that you never come back," Giana explained. "That's really all he wants."

"Well, then he should ask for me to promise that," Lizzy said, glancing at the ring on her right finger and away again as she picked up a pair of jeans from the floor. "I _can_ give him that much."

9.

Maggie Fitzwilliam was the only person Will knew who could turn the holidays into a matter of democratic diplomacy. While Giana was practicing piano that morning, Maggie had called everyone together in the living room to vote on when the celebrations should occur. The verdict was a Christmas Eve feast ("Which means Christmas Day leftovers," Lizzy said with a wide, lazy grin) and Christmas morning for opening presents ("No Santa this Christmas," Maggie informed her husband. "_Aww_," Fitz protested. "_No_," Maggie insisted, "because last Christmas, you scared Zarine.").

Since Lizzy and Giana were on hand in the cabin, they helped Maggie make dinner. Being the kind of cook she was, Giana was limited to chopping vegetables and setting timers, but with her help, Lizzy and Maggie were able to turn out a turkey, a ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese, peas, lots of cookies, and a gingerbread house. Lizzy even made her eggnog, her "infamous" eggnog as Jane dubbed it. Will hadn't quite understood what that meant until Lizzy scooped herself and Fitz a thick, creamy cup after dinner. Almost immediately following, the pair of them became extremely giddy. They vented this giddiness by playing with Zarine on the floor and quickly managed to work the three of them into quite an excitable state.

Perched in an armchair wither her briefcase open in front of her and handling supervision, Maggie lamented, "We're never going to get her to settle down tonight."

"Sure, we will," Fitz assured her, pausing in his current monster imitation: on his hands and knees, teeth bared, red crest fluffed as high as it could go. "She'll be so worn-out that she'll be asleep before we put her to bed, you'll see."

"No, what's going to keep _you _up isn't me and your dad," Lizzy told the baby in a loud whisper. "It's all the cookies we've been sneaking you."

"You gave her _cookies_?" Maggie said gaping, but Zarine only looked up at her mother, open-mouthed, and laughed. Lizzy, Fitz, and Will laughed with her.

"What's so funny?" asked Giana, emerging from her room with a sizable stack of wrapped presents to put under the tree.

"Baby Zee," replied Lizzy lazily, scooping Zarine up and cradling the baby back on her back so that she could be tickled more easily. Zarine laughed and squirmed, and Lizzy stopped, waiting for the baby's face turn toward her, mouth open, before tickling her again.

It always amazed Will—Lizzy's ability with children. With a mother like hers, there was no possibility of Lizzy inheriting any maternal instincts at all, but still… If her cousin _had_ delivered Wickham's child, Will could very well imagine that the responsibility of raising it would have fallen to Lizzy—

"Cut that out," Lizzy told him with a stern, wry grin. She lowered the baby gently to the floor and watched Zarine totter over to her father.

"What?" Will asked startled.

"Imagine me as a mother," she replied, raising her chin and wrinkling her nose. "Especially while I'm tipsy, That's bound to be bad luck or something." She lay back on the rug, her legs crossed, her hands behind her head. Her hair spread out around her; colors danced in and out of it in the firelight. When Jimmy passed, following Giana with the rest of the presents, she grinned toward him. "I _told_ you that you were giving him ideas, Jimmy."

Jimmy stopped, eyebrows raised and rather worried, looking from Lizzy on the floor to Will above her on the couch.

"Don't mind her," Will told the boy smiling. "She doesn't mean anything."

"_What_?" Lizzy snapped, sitting up abruptly and launching herself at the couch. Will caught her hands grinning, just before she managed to smack him. Of course, she didn't give up yet; she began grappling with him instead. "Don't _tell_ people not to pay attention to me."

Will noticed that Jimmy had already wandered off toward the tree, and Giana was taking the wrapped gifts from his arms.

"You shouldn't tease Jimmy," Will told her, grinning wider as she pushed against him, so hard that he shifted back slightly and she found room to put her knee on the couch.

"Pots and kettles, you punk," Lizzy snorted, now leaning all her weight into him, trying to force him to collapse under the strain, but Will held out, still grinning at her but trying not to be smug. Trying not to let her _catch_ him being smug, since it would only make her more upset.

"Damage fees, children," Maggie said sternly, and Giana giggled as Lizzy sighed, throwing her weight to the side so that she fell into the cushions beside Will, her head tucked into his shoulder, their hands still linked.

"_Boo_," Lizzy said scowling.

Will grinned against her hair and bent to kiss her forehead. "Marry me."

"Don't boss me around," retorted Lizzy.

Will watched Lizzy for a moment, noticing her nose wrinkled and her chin raised high. He smiled and resettling his arm around her shoulders. "All right."

"You seem kind of mellow, Will," Fitz said, lying on his back, legs bent, balancing Zarine on his shins. She was giggling at the game. "You sick or something?"

Will frowned, not quite sure what his cousin meant, but Lizzy just stuck her tongue out, saying "Leave him alone. He's just had a long day."

"Long days usually make Will cranky," Fitz replied miffed, lifting his feet slightly so that Zarine squealed and held on.

"Don't drop the baby," Maggie warned.

"He's _happy_," Lizzy said, re-adjusting in her seat so that she was nestled more snugly against Will's side, her arms around his waist, her chin on his chest as she smiled up at him. "Aren't you, Mr. Darcy?"

If he thought about it too much, it would bother Will that she would only act this way—abashedly possessive, and physically affectionate—when she was somewhat intoxicated. So he didn't think of it. Instead he merely took her face in his hands and kissed her gently.

"That must be a yes," said Maggie, grinning and shuffling through a stack of magazines in her briefcase,

"_Mags_," said Fitz, picking Zarine off his legs and shifting to a sitting position, his daughter in his lap, "come play with us."

Maggie glanced over, smiling, a magazine resting in her palms.

"Zarine and I will give you a cookie," he promised, grabbing the baby's hands and helping her stand up in front of him.

"I'm _working_, Fitz," Maggie protested grinning.

"Aww, but it's seven o'clock. On Christmas Eve," Fitz protested.

"If you have to work this hard," Will said as Lizzy snuggled closer, now practically in his lap (not that he was complaining, of course), "We should hire you an assistant."

Maggie grimaced, and Will wondered what kind of assistant they could get her to tolerate.

"I'm almost done. I just need to finish a couple magazines."

"Can't it wait?" Fitz whined.

"Come on, Will," said Lizzy straightening up and peering into Maggie's briefcase. "If I pin her, you can take the magazines and bury them somewhere."

"Uh-oh," said Fitz, glancing back at Maggie.

"Don't you dare," said Maggie, eyes narrowed. "Do have any idea how difficult it is to get mock-up copies of these magazines—"

"Yeah, kiddo—so you know," Fitz said, shuffling on his knees after Zarine as the girl trotted over to investigate the additions under the tree, "we don't threaten the contents of Maggie's briefcase. Not if we want to live."

Lizzy sat on her heels, sighing. "Fine."

"It really won't take me long," Maggie assured them. "It's just—all these magazines have requested interviews, and since _some_ of us," she said, looking straight at Will, "have a hard time playing nice with strangers—" Will started to scowl, but Lizzy took his hand and kissed his knunkles, smirking. "—I've decided to take only one. But that means I need to choose."

"Workaholic," taunted Fitz, as loudly as he dared, shaking a small Christmas package under Zarine's ear.

"_Hey_," Maggie snapped back, "this is _your_ livelihood as well as mine."

"Well, it's not like you can make a call tonight," Fitz replied. "Or even tomorrow."

"_This_," Lizzy told Will smugly, her head on his shoulder as they watched the other two, "is why you and I are never going to work together," and Will laughed.

"This isn't the _only _thing I've got to get done," Maggie told her husband.

"I'm starting to like Lizzy's burying idea a little better," Fitz said, stopping Zarine from pulling the paper decorations off the Christmas tree.

"Should we step in, do you think?" Will asked Lizzy.

"And do what?" Lizzy replied grinning. "Start threatening to take away Christmas presents?"

The front door opened. A draft of cold air flew in, and a figure followed it, one so well-bundled and heavily laden with garment bags that Will didn't recognize her at first.

"Jane!" cried Lizzy happily and sprang from the couch to help her. Despite being taller than Lizzy by several inches, Jane only _just_ managed to raise the garment bags high out of her twin's reach. That didn't keep Lizzy from standing on her tiptoes and trying to grab the exposed hangers out of her sister's hands. "You know, Janey, you're not helping me be helpful."

Jane took a step back, kicked the door closed, and glared. "Lizzy," she warned. "_Please_."

As Lizzy turned around, Will worried that her feelings had been hurt, but she was only grinning wryly. "Ooo, watch out, everybody—Jane's in a _bad_ mood," Lizzy said, clasping her hands behind her back and strolling to the couch.

"You get more Christmas presents or something?" Fitz asked Jane, grabbing Zarine just before she managed to wander off. Zarine didn't seem to like that; she struggled against her father's arm.

"Yes," Jane said, striding across the room toward the stairs. "Well…"

Lizzy dropped back into her seat next to Will. "Yes, well, you kinda _forgot_ something."

"What?" Jane cried worriedly, looking behind her, assuming she'd dropped something along the way. "Where?"

"She means Charlie," Will explained and felt rather reassured when Jane flashed her younger sister a scowling glare. It meant that he wasn't the only one who was rattled when Lizzy was determined to make mischief.

"You left with him," Lizzy reminded her sister in a sing-song. "Did you get mad and make him hitchhike home?"

"Nope, kiddo—that's something _you'd_ do," Fitz pointed out and hushed Zarine when she started to fuss.

Even Lizzy wouldn't do that, not in this weather. At least, Will didn't _think_ she would.

"Charlie said he should spend some time with his _family_," Jane muttered, trotting up the staircase. "His _sisters_ will be dropping him off later."

"That's the crankiest I've ever seen Jane," Giana whispered, staring at the stairwell. "Are you quite sure that was still your sister, Lizzy?"

"Yep," Lizzy chirped, "but she's really not that bad. You should see her when she's PMSing—" Lizzy gasped and clapped both hands over her mouth, but Giana and Maggie were laughing already, especially at the expressions on Fitz and Jimmy's faces. Lizzy turned to Will, grinning ruefully. "I really _am _tipsy."

Will smiled, lifting a hand to stroke her hair.

"But why is Jane so upset?" Maggie said.

Lizzy shrugged. "Don't worry. She's just stressed."

"This is why you should always buy your Christmas presents early," Jimmy told Giana smugly, and Will grinned. Jimmy had told Will that story earlier, during the ride up the lift: the story of Giana's mad, panicked, day-long dash of a shopping spree as she tried to get all her gifts in order before her flight the next morning.

"No, it's not Christmas." Lizzy glanced up the stairs and then leaned forward, so far off the couch that Will had to grab her shoulder to keep her from falling. Then she confided to them all in a loud, conspiring whisper, "Charlie and Jane are planning something. Something sneaky."

"Princess Jane is _not_ sneaky," Fitz said, cradling Zarine as she began to scream now in earnest.

"Neither is Charlie," Giana pointed out, Jimmy watching behind her.

Will privately agreed, but he had to admit that Lizzy often proved more observant than the rest of them.

"Yeah, _that's_ how I know they're being sneaky," Lizzy replied. "They're _trying_ too hard."

"Bullshit," snorted Maggie without looking up from the magazine she was holding.

Lizzy scowled. "They're _definitely_ up to something. For one, neither of them have gone skiing yet; that's not normal. For two, they keep disappearing on these mysterious errands that always take all day. For three, they—" Lizzy gasped, and Will lost his grip on her shoulder as she climbed on the coffee table so that she could peer into Maggie's face. "You're _helping_ them, aren't you? You're _in_ on the sneakiness."

That would certainly make sense. Maggie was capable of keeping many more secrets than Charlie and his fiancé.

"I—" started Maggie.

"I need—" Will turned toward the voice, and there was Jane at the bottom of the stairs, still angry, glaring through her red hair just as Lizzy did when she was angry. "—something alcoholic."

Lizzy laughed, so hard that her arms buckled under her, and Will had to catch her to keep her from knocking her head on the table.

Giana was already on her way to the kitchen. "There's the eggnog, I suppose."

"That'll work," Jane said, following her.

"The Bingley sisters," said Lizzy, wiping her eyes and giggling, "they've finally driven Jane to drink."

"Will, can I try some?" Giana asked, and Will turned to see her pulling the eggnog pitcher from the fridge.

"I suppose," said Will, wondering why she was asking, wondering if it was normal for a girl to ask her elder brother if she could enjoy a Christmas treat. "I don't see why not."

Lizzy laughed again and poked him gently in the stomach. "You forgot that we don't have the same drinking laws as you've got back in England."

"Oh," Will said, looking back to see Giana ladling out two cups. "I suppose it's still all right, then."

"Uh-huh," Lizzy said smugly.

"She's a big girl," Will added, turning back to see if she'd laughed, and she did and gripped his hand.

"Would you like any, Will?" Giana called.

"No thanks," Will replied, glancing back.

"I would," said Fitz hopefully.

"Uh-oh," murmured Lizzy, and Will watched her turn, still lying on the coffee table, trying to gauge Maggie's reaction. Then her face changed, became less playful and more attentive. "Whoa—I did that."

"You did what?" Maggie asked, as Lizzy sat up to get a better look at the magazine Maggie was reading. "You wrote '10 Days and 10 Ways to Work Off That Holiday Gorging'?"

"No, not the article," Lizzy said. "The _ad._"

Something fell heavily into the armchair next to Will's couch—Jane, still scowling, with a creamy mixture in a clear glass and her spoon hanging from her mouth. He almost commented that it was only when Jane was angry that she reminded Will of Lizzy, but he didn't. He wasn't sure that the Bennet twins would take it very well.

"What the hell is www. fairy-godmother. com?" Maggie asked, frowning reproachfully when Giana stopped in front of Fitz and nudged him with her foot, careful not to disturb Zarine still fussing in the crook of his arm.

"Say the magic word," said Giana sweetly.

"Abra-cadabra," replied Fitz, distracted with Zarine.

"It's…um…" Lizzy said with a slight frown. "Hmm…" she added, thinking.

"Not _that_ one. The other one," said Giana. "Do you want to teach your baby good manners or not?"

"Please," grumbled Fitz sullenly, and Giana handed it to him beaming but wouldn't let go until he added, "Well, thanks.—Wanna change Zarine's diaper for me while you're at it?"

"No," Giana snorted. With a heavy, unhappy sigh, Fitz set the cup of eggnog down and lumbered to his feet to go in search of the diaper bag.

"You did a photo shoot without knowing what it was _for_?" Maggie asked surprised. That would certainly be surprising, considering Lizzy's outspoken consideration for her career.

Will reached around Lizzy and pulled the magazine gently out of Maggie's hands.

"I know what it's _for_," Lizzy retorted. "I just can't remember how to explain it."

The ad was composed of four panels, four that depicted the Cinderella story.

In the first, Cinderella loomed large on the far left of the frame, a sooty smudge on her cheek, a frown around her mouth as she leaned on a broom. The stepsisters were shown behind her, smaller in the right side of the frame, stalking out the door in identical, flimsy black dresses much in the manner of the Bingley sisters.

"_What_ is it?" asked Giana, trying to peer over Will's shoulder. He angled it slightly so that she could see.

In the second, the stepsisters had disappeared, and so had Cinderella's frown. Instead, she was grinning, almost wickedly, as she stooped to grab a pair of glass shoes from the floor. She had some sort of fabric over her other arm, the same color as the dress she wore.

"An ad," Jimmy replied. "That Lizzy did."

"When did you do an ad?" Jane asked her twin.

In the third, the far left of the frame was filled by that fabric, which turned out to be a dress, an exceptionally ugly one. Cinderella seemed keen to put it out of its misery. She was rather gleefully taking a large pair of scissors to the dress, a pair of scissors with a tag that was quite visibly marked "FAIRY- GODMOTHER."

The fourth was fairly traditional: Cinderella in a pretty dress, standing at the top of the steps, above a ball, beaming. The onlookers were well-dressed, wide-eyed, and appreciative—pardoning only the jealous stepsisters.

Underneath the panels was the slogan "MAKE YOUR OWN HAPPY ENDING." Underneath that read _www. fairy-godmother. com_. Below that, there was some fine print that was too small for Will to bother reading.

"You told me about this," Will said remembering. "This was the one where they asked for two panels, but they liked the ones you made up so much that they added them."

"You added some?" Maggie said. "Can you do that?"

"Well, yeah—it was just for fun," Lizzy said shrugging, but with a fond grin in Will's direction. "The ones they asked for didn't talk all that long. Cathy—that's the Cinderella model—said she was booked for the rest of the morning. So, we put our heads together and did a few more shots."

"I rather like this one," Giana announced, tapping the one with the scissors. "I can remember some dresses from my childhood that I wouldn't have minded cutting up."

"Thanks," replied Lizzy, and Giana grinned and spooned eggnog into her mouth.

"But none of that explains what this website is," Maggie said sighing.

"It's a company that makes customized dresses, isn't it?" Will asked Lizzy. "Someone will send in their measurements and pick a color, and they'll get a dress in the mail."

Lizzy grinned. "Well, there's more options than just the color but yeah. It's supposed to be a cheap alternative to professional tailoring. They're trying to enter the market for prom dresses, bridesmaid dresses, debutante—"

"_Oh_," said Jane. "_That's_ where I've heard it before. That's where I got the—" She stopped abruptly and seemed to notice everyone's attention. "I got something from there recently," Jane explained.

"Well, it would _have_ to be recently," Lizzy replied grinning, as Fitz returned, carrying a sleepy and freshly-changed Zarine on his hip. "It's a fairly new company."

"Did we find out what www. fairy-godmother. com is?" Fitz asked irritably, handing the baby over to Maggie so that he could wash his hands in the sink.

"Dress company," Maggie replied. "Is it any good Jane? I don't have time to go shopping anymore—"

"Dresses?" Fitz scoffed, soaping his hands.

"Yeah," Lizzy said, lowering her chin defensively.

"Sell-out," Fitz muttered, almost too low to hear.

Will looked up from the magazine sharply, first at Fitz rinsing the soap from his hands, his head bent over the faucet, and then at Lizzy, who had her mouth open, wide and hurt. Her scowl was only beginning to catch up.

"_Fitz_," scolded Maggie, settling Zarine more comfortably in her lap. "Ignore him, Lizzy. He's just a mean, _old_ drunk."

"I am _not_," Fitz grumbled, coming back into the living room and snatching his eggnog off the table. "What'd you say at Rosings, Lizzy? That you hated the whole fashion industry and two years were all you were going to take? Something like that."

"I was helping Aunt Diana out of a tight spot," Lizzy snapped. "Someone bailed on her last minute, and—"

"You're so _defensive_, kiddo," Fitz said, stabbing at his eggnog with his spoon. "Did I hit a nerve or something?"

Will looked to Lizzy, waiting for her to defend herself, but when the only retaliation she gave was to lower her chin and curl her hands into fists, he supposed it was time for him to step in. "You aunt owed you a favor after that, though. Did you talk her into letting you sneak about interviewing for an exposé?"

"Yeah," Lizzy said, relaxing but still frowning. "About airbrushing. For National Geographic."

"You didn't tell me that," Jane told her sister gently, and Lizzy turned wide-eyed.

"But they didn't take it," Fitz said and stuffed a spoonful of eggnog in his mouth.

""Fitz, what the hell?" Giana snapped scowling, her hands on her hips.

"That's big," Fitz replied around the spoon in his mouth. "We would've heard about it."

"Did something happen while you were changing the baby?" Maggie asked shrewdly. "You got baby shit on your hand again, didn't you?"

Fitz scowled into his cup. "So fucking _gross_."

"Someone _did_ take it, didn't they?" Will asked Lizzy patiently.

"Yeah," answered Lizzy, beginning to understand what he was getting at and grinning slowly.

Will grinned back lazily. "Who?"

"Newsweek," said Lizzy smiling.

"_Newsweek_?" Maggie repeated, mouth open, so loudly that Zarine woke up and started to fuss again.

Lizzy nodded. "They're doing a Body Image issue."

"Really? Oh, congratulations!" Giana cried and hugged Lizzy with enough force to knock them both down to the coffee table. Jane took the opportunity to kiss her sister's forehead.

"I can't _believe_ you didn't tell me that," Jane scolded, but she was smiling.

"Well, it's just a short piece. Plus, I only got the email _yesterday_," Lizzy said, "and then someone called this morning. Actually, I have a lot of work to do. I'm supposed to cut it down by something like four thousand words and three pictures—"

"But it does make you career, right?" asked Jimmy with a growing smile.

"It definitely helps—" Lizzy started.

"Don't get too excited," Fitz said. "It's only ready by about half of America. The _suited_ half."

"Oh, shut up, Fitz," Maggie said, smacking his shoulder affectionately. "You left a Newsweek by the toilet just this morning. I _saw_ it."

Lizzy and Giana laughed, Jane smiled, and Will grinned as Fitz protested, "That's all they _had—_"

"Sure," Maggie said, getting up and cradling Zarine against her shoulder. "Okay, we're watching a movie. What does everybody want to see?"

"Whoa—since when are we watching a movie?" asked Lizzy laughing.

"Since you, Fitz, Jane, and Giana dipped into the _very_ alcoholic concoction you whipped up," Maggie answered, going to the TV and grabbing the remote. "I can handle one giggly Bennet, but not two."

"Actually—" Lizzy started, looking to Jane.

"I hold my alcohol much better than Lizzy," Jane said smiling.

Maggie was fishing around the entertainment center for DVD's. "Doesn't matter. There's still Giana to think of."

"Wha?" said Giana sharply. "Now wait—"

"No, to tell the truth, you don't hold your liquor all that well," said Jimmy with a grin that quickly fell off his face when he met Will's startled gaze. "Not that I know from experience or anything," he added quickly.

Lizzy snorted, and Maggie discovered a couple lonely DVD's in the cabinet beside the TV. "Okay, what'll it be? _March of the Penguins_ or _The Bourne Identity_?"

10.

Will was having a hard time falling asleep. Lizzy could tell. She could tell, because it'd been over a half an hour since they'd climbed into bed, kissed each other goodnight, and turned off the light, but Will was still fidgeting. Just a little: shifting a foot one minute, turning his head the other way the next, rubbing his nose right after that. Just enough so that Lizzy knew he was awake. He almost didn't move at all when he slept. He moved so little that he teased Lizzy changing positions so often when she was asleep.

She wondered what it was, what was bothering him. It couldn't be the movie. They'd ended up watching _It's a Wonderful Life_, the copy that Jane was going to give Charlie for Christmas but sacrificed for the good of all. It _definitely_ wasn't the kind of movie to give him nightmares, and nothing significant happened _after_ the movie either. When it ended, it was late enough that several eggnog-filled individuals were dozing on the couches. It was agreed that presents would happen when everyone woke up, and Giana was told firmly that she wasn't allowed to wake anyone up ("I'm _nineteen_," she protested, "not nine.)

Even with her head turned toward him, lying on her stomach, she couldn't really see him, not with the lights turned off. But she could imagine his face, eyes open, scowling in the dark.

"Okay, _what's _wrong?" Lizzy asked finally.

"Hmm?" His voice was muffled, like he was talking into the pillow." Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

"You didn't wake me. I haven't fallen asleep yet, and neither have you. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that shit," she said smiling, propping herself up on her elbow so that she could look toward him. "You've been worrying about _something_, and if it's keeping you up at night, we might as well work through it right now. So—I ask you again—what's _wrong_, Mr. Darcy?"

"I don't want to talk about it actually."

"Tough," Lizzy replied with a smug smile.

Lizzy heard him sigh. Heavily. _"Lizzy_."

"_Will_." She braced herself; soon he would be pretending to be aggravated.

"I _said_ I didn't want to talk about it."

It wasn't as bad as she thought. He was going to crack soon. "I know; I heard you. I'm telling you that's not an option."

Will groaned, flipped over onto his stomach, and Lizzy thought she even heard him shove his head under his pillow.

"Well, that won't work on _me_," Lizzy said, reaching over so that she could trail her fingers up the most sensitive parts of his spine, and pausing when she felt him flinch under her hand. "The nice thing about sharing a bed is that I don't have to leave you alone until you talk to me."

He was scowling at her; she still couldn't see it in the dark but she could sense it.

"I'm more stubborn than you are," Lizzy reminded him. "If you want to make this something we fight over, I'll win. You don't believe me? I'll give you a preview—"

"That isn't necessary," Will replied sharply. "I believe you."

Lizzy grinned. "Good answer."

"It's all rather stupid."

"It is _not_. Not if you've been worrying about it for three days."

"Two and a half days," Will corrected shifting so that the mattress protested with a squeak.

"You trying to fill a time quota or something?" Lizzy asked grinning, but Will was silent. When he was silent for a whole minute (Lizzy watched the red digits on the alarm clock change), she added, "Would it help if I told you about something that's worrying me?"

"Yes," Will replied, too quickly.

Lizzy snorted. "I shouldn't have offered that. You're hoping to stall long enough that I give up and fall asleep."

She heard Will sigh, and she imagined him—stretched out on his back, hair tousled across the pillow, looking at the ceiling. She wondered if she should turn on the light. "It really would help me," he said slowly. "I haven't even realized that you _were_ worried."

"Fine," Lizzy said, dropping from her elbow and tucking her chin into the pillow. She regretted offering now, now that there was something twisting nervously in her gut. "You—Will, _you_ don't think I'm a sell-out, do you?"

There was a sharp movement from Will's side of the bed; he probably turned sharply toward her. "What?"

"You don't think I'm a sell-out, right?" she asked again, but the only response she got from Will was him pulling the covers closer to him. She stretched a hand toward him and noticed that he'd turned his back to her. "Will?"

"You can't make something _up_, Lizzy," he replied angrily. I don't want to talk at all now."

Lizzy's hand dropped to the bed between them, her mouth hanging open. "Okay, rule number one of talking in bed: you are _not_ allowed to scoff at anything I tell you, especially when I _just_ told you that I've been worried about it."

"You're not _really_ paying any mind to what Fitz said," Will said, turning back so quickly that he rolled onto her hand. Before she could snatch out of the way, he caught it and held it.

"Well, _yeah_. I know what I said at Rosings, and I used to think that I'd never go back, but I just kind of fell back into it—"

"Lizzy," Will said, "he didn't mean anything by it. This _is_ Fitz we're talking about. You can't tell Fitz seriously."

Lizzy paused, frowning thoughtfully, before propping herself back up on her elbows. "So, he never told you about when he came to see me right after you left Rosings."

"He said he delivered my letter, that's all," Will said slowly. Lizzy knew he was trying to remember. "Did he do something else?"

"Well, basically, Fitz told me I needed to get over myself and spend the rest of my life with you."

"He did _what_?" Will asked, beginning to sit up.

"You can't get mad," Lizzy informed him, "and you can't tell him I told you. I'm just trying to explain why I can't completely ignore Fitz's opinion."

"What did Fitz _tell_ you exactly?"

"Will, focus. Me, a sell-out—yes or no?" she asked. "So, you know it's not just this ad. Fairy-godmother. com offered me a contract." There was a lot more movement from Will's side, and Lizzy heard him put his feet on the floor. "Because they liked my version of the campaign better, they're giving me a lot more artistic freedom than I should expect, as inexperienced as I—"

She stopped abruptly as the door opened and light flooded in, and she watched Will stalk out of the room. She scowled, pulling herself up to a sitting position and wondering if he knew _exactly _how rude it was to leave the room while they were talking, or if she was going to have to tell him. Then a shadow crossed the doorway, and Will re-entered the room, head bent over something in his hand and asked, "Lizzy, turn on the light, will you?"

Lizzy frowned and reached under the lampshade, groping for the switch. She squeezed her eyes shut as the lamp came on, turning her eyes away, grimacing. When she could open his eyes again, Will was at his carry-on bag. When she saw what he pulled out and what he consequently put on his face, she laughed—into the pillow so that she didn't wake anyone up. "Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" she giggled.

Will glanced back at her and adjusted the dark, squarish frames on his nose, before looking away and going to close the door.

"When did you get glasses?" Lizzy asked.

Will returned to the bed, sitting on his side of the bed and pulling something into his lap, a magazine. "When Maggie made me."

"And why haven't I seen them?"

"They're only for reading," Will protested without looking up.

Lizzy decided that she _liked_ his glasses; they softened his face and made his scowl seem a little less imposing. "Well, you shouldn't _hide_—"

"Lizzy, _try_ to focus," Will said exasperated. "You asked me a question, and I'm trying to give you an honest answer."

Lizzy glanced down at the magazine in Will's lap and noticed with a start that it was the mock-up copy from before, open to fairy-godmother. com ad. She almost asked if Maggie's briefcase was off-limits to _everyone_, or just certain mischief-makers, but decided against it when she saw the concentration on Will's face. Watching him peer through his glasses, she suddenly imagined him twenty years down the line, with grey in his hair and crows' feet at his eyes, peering over a newspaper in exactly the same way.

"What?" Will asked when Lizzy didn't managed to muffle her laughter fast enough.

"You're cute," she replied grinning.

Will blinked at her through his glasses, opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, frowning down at the page in front of him. "These two were from the original campaign," he decided, tapping the first and fourth photos, the one of the step-sisters leaving Cinderella and then Cinderella arriving at the ball.

He was right, but she still asked, "How do you know?"

"They're rather more classic," Will replied, "and standing alone they could be seen as _before_ and _after_ images. Before and after purchasing a dress from this company, of course. Now, the other two," he added, "they change the story quite a bit. Here, you and this Cinderella model—"

"Cathy," Lizzy corrected.

"Yes, Cathy. By adding the picture of Cathy collecting materials and cutting up the dress, the panels became a chronicle of a process," Will explained. "Since you've depicted the way Cathy changed the dress _herself_, it's not quite the same; it's not something that the company can do, but what Cinderella must do for herself. Her success now rests on her own creativity. You've actually fit the slogan much better than the original scheme. Before it could've have been '_Buy_ Your Own Happy Ending.' With your additions, you're now telling the readers of this magazine they can make one instead."

"You made really good grades in school, huh?" Lizzy asked.

Will looked up. "I did. Why?"

"Because that's almost _exactly_ how Aunt Diana pitched it to the Fairy-Godmother representatives," Lizzy said smiling. "She threw in a few extra words and some statistics, but—"

"Lizzy," Will said, in the same earnest tone he reserved for when he _really _wanted her to know something. And he was looking at her in the dark, intense way that always made her blush. "I never believed for a moment that you were any sort of sell-out or failure. I was surprised, yes, when you allowed your aunt to hire you, because you seemed so much against the industry itself. But I believe it's more admirable for you to go back and change what you hated than to merely run away. It's similar to what Fitz said by the pool that you liked so much. Hero-model—No, _supermodel_," he said with a widening grin. "How did it go again? 'Like Superman, but—'"

"'Like Superman, but prettier,'" Lizzy remembered beginning to smile. "'Fighting lechery and fashion fuck-ups everywhere.'"

"Exactly," Will said, pulling his glasses off his face and folding them awkwardly. "The things that you hated about the industry—that you told me and Fitz about—the lechery, the way people looked at you, the way it made women look at themselves, that's what I can see you trying to change."

Lizzy didn't know what to say.

"Are you going to take it?" Will asked. "The contract, I mean."

Lizzy hesitated.

"You really want to do it," Will said. "I know you do."

Lizzy bit her lip. She'd already been jotting down ideas: Rupunzel cutting off her _own _hair to climb down the tower (in a beautiful dress, of course), the Little Mermaid's first steps on land (in a beautiful dress), Snow White kicking and shattering her own glass coffin. She _did_ want to do it, but—

"You've never been someone to limit yourself because you're afraid of what others will think of you," Will reminded, brushing her hair from her face.

Lizzy sat back slight against the pillows, smiling some and staring. "How did you do that?" Lizzy asked him, regarding him quietly.

"Do what? What have I done now?" Will asked, slightly worried, placing his glasses on the nightstand.

"How did you know exactly what to say to make me feel better?" she asked.

Will grinned, pleased with himself now. "So you're going to take their offer?"

"Yeah," Lizzy said, beginning to nod slowly, "I think I will." She leaned back forward as he placed the magazine on the nightstand, next to his glasses. "Thank you," she said and kissed him. She felt him smile against her mouth and then she pulled back and told him seriously, "Now it's your turn."

Will grinned and curled his hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her back into another kiss.

"That's not what I meant," Lizzy said laughing, sitting back on her ankles.

"What _did_ you mean?" Will asked, and Lizzy waited for him to remember their agreement. "Oh, bloody hell. I forgot."

"Wishful thinking," Lizzy replied grinning.

Will sighed and glanced toward her lamp. "Turn out the light, if you don't mind."

"Fine," Lizzy said, reaching under the lampshade again, "but I still won't fall asleep on you."

Will waited until the light was off. Then Lizzy heard him drag in a deep breath. "Why are the others afraid of me?"

"You mean, why didn't Giana tell you about Jimmy, right?" Lizzy said, flipping so that she was lying on her stomach again, her head facing him even though she couldn't exactly see him.

"Well. Yes…" Will said, so slowly that Lizzy automatically waited for him to say something else, but he didn't.

Lizzy thought, wondering how she could explain this best to Will. She was a little annoyed that Giana and Will couldn't seem to talk this out between themselves, but it wasn't worth encouraging it if it meant that Giana was going to end up yelling at Will again.

"Will, how old was Giana when your dad died?"

"Thirteen—no, I was just nineteen, so that would make Giana fourteen." He paused before adding, "They were never close."

"So, what you telling me is that you're doubling as brother _and_ father figure. It's pretty normal for teenage girls to not tell their male relatives about whoever they're dating—"

"They aren't just _dating_, Lizzy," Will pointed out. "They're in _love_. And please don't try to tell me that siblings aren't open about things like love. Giana had to tell _me_ that I was in love with you."

"Yeah," Lizzy replied grinning, "but that's because you're dense. Not as dense as _I_ am apparently, but still—"

"_Lizzy_."

Lizzy sighed. "Well, Giana's also going through the stage where she feels stupid and ashamed about how naïve she was with Wickham. Since you were pretty involved with the _beat-the-shit-out-of-Wickham_ part of the saga, she's trying to handle a relationship completely independent of that.—Lydia's the same way. Jane and I can't get her to tell us anything about her current boyfriends."

"Giana is _afraid_ of me, Lizzy." He was hurt. His voice had become deeper and slower like it did whenever he was really upset. Lizzy knew that Giana had hurt him, and she thought it was a mistake for Will not to show his sister how much he was hurt. "My own sister's afraid of me."

"Well, not _all_ the time."

"That doesn't _exactly_ make me feel any better," Will said irritably.

"It's only when you lose your temper," Lizzy explained. "You _do_ have a really bad temper."

Will shifted, turning slightly away, and Lizzy even heard him snort slightly.

So he didn't feel like it was an accusation, she added, "I do too, and Jane's scared of me when I'm mad. She gave me weird looks for days after I broke Collins' nose."

Will chuckled—quietly but loud enough so that Lizzy smiled in the dark and slid her hand out from under the blankets to find his hand. "I was rather frightened of you myself."

"_See_," Lizzy said smugly as her hand caught Will's.

They lay in the dark for a while, holding hands. Lizzy waited. It always took Will at least ten minutes to get at whatever he needed talk about.

"She's not the only one," Will said after a moment.

"Well, you see, you lose your temper a lot," Lizzy pointed out smirking, "and Giana's not the only one to see it."

"They're all afraid of me, though," Will pointed out. "Is that normal for everyone who's close to me to be so terrified that they tread carefully in my presence?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Lizzy reminded him.

"No, you're not," Will replied. Lizzy waited, knowing that he was just warming up. "I think that's why I've suddenly noticed it after all this time. You're not a bit frightened, and the others sense that. That's why they all begin poking fun at me as soon as you're around. They know you'll stop me from getting carried away, and—"

Lizzy could stop herself from laughing. She clapped both hands over her mouth as fast as she could, but it was too late.

"Lizzy, I'm _serious_," Will said in a low dangerous voice.

"I know you are, but you just made me sound like you're a tempermental toddler and I'm your nanny."

"I don't feel much like a toddler. I feel like a tyrant. Am I really such a terrible person that everyone around me delights in rebelling against me and telling me off?"

"_That's_ what you've been worried about?" Lizzy asked, drawing herself back up on her elbows, aghast. "That you're a bad person?"

"Well, Giana certainly didn't help," Will grumbled, "yelling at me like she did. And Jimmy, when we were on the lift, he explained that he thought I was abusive."

"What? To Giana? You'd never hurt—"

"No, he thought I abused you," Will said quietly.

Lizzy puffed out a horrified gasp. "If he thinks—"

"I was only because of last night," Will explained. "At the doorway, when I grabbed you. But that's understandable. If he'd done the same to Giana, I would think _much_ more terrible things. And besides that, there's y—"

Will stopped himself, but it didn't matter much. Lizzy knew it anyway. He was worried that this was a reason that Lizzy refused to agree to marry him. For a moment, Lizzy was tempted to explain now, to tell him the rest… But you don't marry someone, because you pity him, or because you want to comfort him.

"Will, you're a good person," Lizzy told him firmly, squeezing his hand hard.

She heard him sigh, but he didn't answer. Lizzy fumbled again under the lampshade and turned on the light. He grimaced, blinking against the light, but she pulled her knees up under her so that she could shuffle closer, leaning over him with both hands on either side of his chest, frowning down at him. He frowned back, but there was no glare in his face.

"You are a good man, Will," she told him.

He smiled, just slightly, and reached up to put his hands on either side of her waist. He wouldn't look her in the eye. His gaze was roaming around her face, lingering at her mouth. "You only say that because you love me."

"Maybe so—" Lizzy started, and when Will still didn't look up, she scowled and let her weight collapse on top of him, so that Will stared at her, startled and wide-eyed. "Yeah, you should look at me when I'm talking to you. That's rule number two of talking in bed. Rule number three, _believe_ me when you ask for my opinion."

"You're trying to make me feel better," Will said, but he _was_ looking her in the eye now. _That_ was an improvement."

"Well, duh, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said, "and I might just be telling you this because I love you. _But_—" she added, grabbing his face between her hands when he tried to look away again, "I wouldn't love you if you weren't a good person. I wouldn't even trust you if you weren't a good person."

Will seemed to believe this. His frown had turned thoughtful, instead of sad.

"I won't lie to you, though," Lizzy said, hugging him fiercely. "You're _extremely _overbearing."

"You know," Will said, his chest rumbling beneath her, "I _have_ gotten that impression over the past couple days."

"But," Lizzy told him, "you're only overbearing with the people you love, usually because you're trying to protect them. For example, taking my cereal away." She waited for Will to chuckle again before she continued. "That was _annoying_ but well-intentioned. And with Jimmy and Giana: kind of ridiculous, but you _were_ just trying to protect her."

"That's true."

"That doesn't mean, though," she said, kissing his chin, "that you shouldn't back off a little bit."

Will groaned. "I don't think I have much of a choice at this point," he said, pressing kisses into her neck. "I don't think I've _had_ much of a choice since I fell in love with you."

"Hmm, probably not," Lizzy replied smiling and capturing his mouth. She felt his hand move over her hair and then cup her face before rolling her gently over, his mouth over hers as his hands slid her pajama shirt slowly up. One arm moved away to switch off the light, and Lizzy broke the kiss, grinning, to ask, "You sure you wanna start something? We _do_ have neighbors."

Will returned his attention to her neck, trailing kisses from her ear down to her collarbone. "They're asleep."

"Well, we've got a squeaky mattress and extremely thin walls," Lizzy told him, but her voice came out husky. When he unbuttoned the top of her shirt and his mouth started traveling lower, she couldn't keep herself from gasping. "Giana dropped a book…when packing." It was definitely getting harder to talk, especially when Will's mouth moved upward again and found the place right under her ear that was the extra-sensitive. "I heard it…in here. Don't want them thinking it's okay to…return the favor. If…oh, what the hell—" Lizzy grumbled and grabbed Will's head, pulling his mouth down to hers and struggling with _his_ shirt.

She then noticed that Will was a little less responsive than he'd been a few seconds ago.

She sighed sadly, as Will returned to his side of the bed. "Boo, it was the 'return the favor' comment, wasn't it? Stupid mouth, running away with me."

"I _like_ your mouth," Will told her, returning to kiss her swiftly once more, as Lizzy took his hand and rolled into his side, her chin curving around his shoulder. His arm curled over her waist and around her back. "Even when it runs away with you."

"I'll remind you of that sometime," Lizzy said smiling, closing her eyes to go to sleep, breathing in his warm boy smell. It was almost scary to realize that this was one of the only ways she knew she was safe—that they were _both_ safe, when they were this close and locked together, like it would take more than a catastrophe to pull them apart.

_Author's (second) note: To let everyone know, it'll probably be a while for the next update. Since I'm trying to finish the whole thing before I post again. I'm halfway through section thirteen (out of the sixteen planned) so it's coming along. My goal is to get it finished by the end of the month. _

_Anyway, thanks for reading, and thank you everyone for the reviews! They really help keep me writing._


	18. Day Four: Christmas Day

_Author's Note: Nobody worry about Will in section 12. I wouldn't write an epilogue just to kill off one of my favorite characters._

11.

He'd been awake for two hours already. No—Will corrected himself, glancing at the clock and taking another sip of his coffee—it was 6:44. That would make it two hours and eighteen minutes. He had really expected someone to join him by now. If he had known it would take this long for the others to get up, he would have tried napping on the couch.

Just when Will began reconsidering picking up his guitar, he heard light footsteps padding down the staircase, and he set his coffee mug down and waited, expecting Charlie, preparing to ask him whether or not—

Will noticed a bright flash of red hair and promptly forgot what he was going to ask Charlie.

"Oh," said Jane hesitantly, reaching up with a narrow-fingered hand to smooth her mad hair flat, "I didn't realize anyone else was up."

Will managed a smile. He couldn't remember a time when he had last been alone with Jane Elinor Bennet. This couldn't be the first incident, but he couldn't remember another. Perhaps back at Netherfield, back when she'd visited so often and Will had been too self-occupied to take notice of her.

He remember suddenly that he was supposed to reply, so he said quickly, "I couldn't go back to sleep."

"I'm sorry," Jane said and smiled back a little. Will nearly hoped that she would excuse herself back upstairs, but instead she walked silently around the counter and toward the coffeepot, tugging her blue cotton robe tighter around her.

When Will realized she was staying, he politely closed the anthology he'd been reading, supposing that it would be rude to continue reading Shelley. Lizzy certainly wouldn't like it if she heard he completely ignored her sister.

"Charlie woke _me_ up," Jane explained as she opened the cabinet and reached for a mug. "He had to go to the bathroom, and I woke up when the toilet flushed. Of course, _he_ went straight back to sleep," she added with a short laugh, looking up as she poured the coffee. "It takes a lot to keep him awake."

Will forced himself to smile again. "Lizzy was moving around quite a bit. She was dreaming," he explained. He wondered how much more Lizzy wouldn't mind him telling Jane, if it was all right to mention Lizzy's pained, sleeping frown, the whimper-like whispers in the back of her throat. "She said something, but I couldn't quite understand it."

Jane looked at him sharply, in a very Lizzy-like way. As if she were measuring something. "Did she wake up?" she asked.

"No," said Will. After a pause, he added, "When I said her name, she stopped."

"Oh," said Jane with a slight, thoughtful frown.

Will didn't tell Jane that after he'd spoken, he'd reached across the bed to stroke Lizzy's face gently. He also didn't tell her about how Lizzy had turned her face toward his hand, but he remembered it and remembered how her skin felt under his hand, warm and soft.

"It was probably a nightmare," Jane explained to Will.

"Does she have them often?" Will asked. It was difficult to imagine that. They shared a bed most of the time they spent together, but this was the first time he'd noticed a nightmare. There was that time back in October when she'd sat bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night, but she'd said that she had an epiphany—an idea for an upcoming photo shoot. She might have lied, though. It would be like Lizzy to lie about letting a nightmare scare her.

Jane shrugged. "When she was little, yeah. Anytime she was sick or worried."

It was not lost on Will that she wouldn't meet his gaze. He wondered if it was him that was making her comfortable or if it was talking about Lizzy in this way.

"Once," she added, as she opened the refrigerator and found the milk, "back when we were being picked on at school—"

"_You_ were picked on?" Will repeated surprised. He could imagine Lizzy having trouble with other children, especially if she let her mouth run off and say whatever it liked, but Jane—teasing Jane should have seemed like teasing an infant.

Jane looked at him then and smiled. "We both were. Right after we skipped fourth grade and went right into fifth," she explained, tucking her cropped red hair behind her ear. "You can't blame them, though."

Will thought that Lizzy probably had _no_ trouble blaming them.

"We were just so much smaller than everyone else," Jane continued, her spoon clinking against the mug as she stirred sugar and milk into it, "and I was even tall for my age. Poor Lizzy was just stood out like a sore thumb. She was half the size of the oldest ones."

Lizzy was never and would never be pitiable. Will rather pitied any bully with the bad luck to stroll into Lizzy's playground.

Jane smiled again wider, and Will worried that she was guessing his thoughts. "Of course, that didn't stop Lizzy from breaking the nose of an eighth grader who pushed me down," Jane told Will, tilting her head at the memory. "She kicked him in a certain, ahh…_sensitive_ area—"

Will resisted the urge to snort, wondering how someone could get through medical school and still refer to a man's groin as a "certain sensitive area."

"And then Lizzy rammed her head into him," Jane continued. Will laughed, surprised first, but imagining it: a miniature version of Lizzy, with pigtails in brown tufts behind her head, a rounder face, but with the same bright, fierce eyes. Her head bent, feet pounding in the dust; a boy twice her size dropping to the ground. "Gave herself a black eye," Jane added. Will laughed again, this time glancing at the doors at the far side of the room, worried that he'd woken someone up, but no one emerged from the bedrooms.

Jane shrugged. "They almost sent her back to elementary school for that."

Will could imagine that too: the round-faced, fierce-eyed, _black_-eyed Lizzy staring down her principal.

"They didn't, though," Will said after a moment.

"No, she promised to behave after that," Jane said. "She even offered to do lines."

Will guessed—from the troubled look on Jane's face—that Lizzy hadn't wanted to leave her twin alone in such a school.

"Of course, no one bothered us much after that," Jane said with a bemused smile.

"But—" Will said quietly and stiffened slightly when Jane turned to him, with that measuring look that worried him when he saw it in Lizzy. "She had nightmares?"

Jane nodded, looking away again, noticing a dishtowel crumpled on the table, setting her mug down to fold it. "There was one week where she woke the whole house screaming, several nights in a row," she said quietly, and the gulp that followed in the silence was almost impermeable. "She shot Mom's nerves to ribbons, but she wouldn't stop crying until she saw us both."

Will could only imagine how Mrs. Bennet might take those shredded nerves out on Lizzy, could only imagine the abuse that Lizzy would've been forced to hear at the foot of her bed, at the breakfast table, the carpool drive, the—Will noticed the wary glance that Jane was aiming at him as she returned the milk to the refrigerator, and then he realized he was scowling.

"That wouldn't have inspired many kindnesses in your mother" was all Will could bring himself to say.

Jane didn't respond to that, not directly. She was the favorite, though. She couldn't be expected to understand. "I thought Lizzy had grown out of it," Jane said hesitantly. "We haven't shared a room for so long, I wouldn't know."

That surprised Will, the thought that he could know more about Lizzy than her twin could.

Jane was staring at him levelly, and if Will had been a bit more familiar with her, he might have supposed that she was thinking the same thing.

"Do you think she's sick?" Will asked quietly.

"It _is_ cold season, but no, I doubt it," Jane said, sipping her coffee. "You saw her at Netherfield. She's crankier when she's sick."

Will paused, thinking of the exchange of worries that they'd had the night before. She wouldn't have nightmares over work, not over photography—Will was almost sure. He was angry with himself suddenly—for not believing her at first. He hadn't exactly inspired confidence or encouraged Lizzy to tell him about _what else_ was on her mind.

"Do you know what's bothering her?" Will asked Jane.

Jane looked back at him warily, her lips pressed thin and tight and disapproving.

"I'm not asking you to tell me," Will added quickly. "I just want to know if she's talked about it to you."

Jane looked down. She unfolded and refolded the dishtowel in front of her. "She hasn't mentioned anything to me."

Will wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not. It was possible that Lizzy wasn't bothered enough to tell her sister, and it was possible that for Jane, Lizzy would hide any feelings that would bother her.

He noticed with a start that Jane was still watching him. "She doesn't tell me much anymore, not when she's upset," Jane explained. "I think, since a couple years ago, she doesn't want to trouble me."

Will froze. He knew that Jane knew, the role he'd played in Charlie leaving Netherfield; Lizzy had told him so. He didn't know what to do now. He knew what Lizzy would tell him to do. He could hear her voice again, encouraging him: _Come on, Will. Practice with me. Ask me. And while you're at it, you might as well say, 'Lizzy, I'm so sorry I was a complete and utter asshole.'_

Jane picked up the dishtowel and wiped down the area around the counter. Then she was looking at Will with the kind of challenge in her smile that reminded him _very_ strongly of Lizzy. "But I'm not as fragile as everyone seems to think."

"I'm sorry," Will blurted, looking into his coffee. "I know that what I've done was unforgivable and that I was interfering with—"

"_What?"_

When he looked up, Jane was staring at him, her eyebrows blending into her red hair, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"The Christmas party at Netherfield—" Will started and stopped. Then he added, "I assumed that Lizzy—"

Jane took her hand from her mouth, shaking her head. "No, Charlie told me—Lizzy didn't. Well," Jane amended, and Will was surprised to hear the annoyance in her voice, "she admitted to knowing, but she didn't tell me…she did explain..." She thought about it again. "To be fair, I did tell her not to. She just chooses to listen to me at the most inconvenient times."

Will paused, looking from Jane's thoughtful frown to the door of the bedroom he was now sharing with Lizzy. Then, he said hesitantly, "I _am_ sorry. I'm a terrible ass sometimes, and I misjudged you."

Jane smiled back hesitantly, her hands turned toward each other, and she pressed her weight on them slowly, watching her fingers spread on the marble counter. "Yeah, but you don't know me all that well. And you _really_ didn't know me well back then," she said carefully, and then she looked up at him, her lips pressed together tight. "It really was Charlie that I was angry with; he's the one who should've known better. But," she added with a reassuring smile, "I do appreciate your apology. Lizzy says you don't give them out easily."

Will wasn't sure how he got off so easily. Lizzy would never let him off so easy. Will remembered suddenly what Lizzy had once told him about Jane when the subject was still tender between them. "There are two things you should know about Jane," Lizzy had said. "One is that she's probably the kindest person you'll ever meet. That doesn't mean that she'll forgive you right away, but she definitely won't hold it against you. The other thing is that she's more private than you are. Watch her when she talks to you. She won't volunteer any information about herself. She'll distract you by talking about other people." Will realized then that they'd been speaking mostly of Lizzy.

"It's something Lizzy's done with Charlotte and me," Jane explained, and Will realized that she was trying to reassure him. "When we dated someone she wasn't sure about. You two are really a lot alike," Jane said with a small smile. "She's just a better judge of character than you are."

Will thought darkly of Wickham.

"Except for Wickham, of course," Jane said thoughtfully, "but he had us all fooled."

"Not me," Will muttered.

"Well. Lizzy figured him out pretty fast," Jane said, sipping from her coffee mug. "Soon after she kissed him anyway."

"She kissed _Wickham_?" Will said aghast.

Jane froze, her mug still pressed to her lips, her blue eyes very wide over it, as she understood what she let slip.

"God, Will," said another voice, and Will turned from the kitchen to living room to see Lizzy stumbling around furniture, her brown hair mussed. She hadn't noticed that her pajama top was still partially unbuttoned, and it flapped around her waist, exposing the soft, pale skin of her stomach. "_Hush_, or you're going to wake up the whole house," she told him, with a significant glance back at Giana and Jimmy's door.

Jane settled her coffee mug quietly on the countertop, looking from her sister back to Will, her lips pressed tight.

Will scowled, but he was quieter when he asked again, "You kissed _Wickham_?"

Lizzy hugged her sister before she chose to do anything else, and Will noticed that she was careful to look everywhere but at him. "Don't look so relieved to see me, Jane," Lizzy said, kissing her sister's cheek. "I'll wonder what you were talking about."

"_You_ kissed Wickham?" Will hissed.

"Correction," said Lizzy, turning to him with her slyest smile and searching the cabinets for a mug she liked, "Wickhead kissed _me_. Cornered me in the Caribou bathroom."

This calmed Will only slightly. "Did you kiss him back?"

Lizzy tilted her head, but Will knew by the smirk hanging wickedly around her mouth that he wasn't going to like her answer. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Until he tried to unbutton my shirt."

Jane squeaked through the hands pressed to her mouth.

"He did _what_?" Will asked carefully, as Lizzy found herself a clean mug in the dishwasher.

She then poured herself some coffee, watching him sidelong through her lashes. "It's not like I slept with him, Will. That's more than you can say about a certain Harpy we both know."

"You mean Desi Harper?" Jane asked her sister, startled.

"_Lizzy_—" Will started.

"Are you seriously going to get mad over this?" Lizzy said, taking a sip of her coffee. "It was a long, _long_ time ago—back when you were the pissed-off rock idol I couldn't stand and Wickham was just the hot British cashier at Caribou." When she moved the mug from her mouth, Will saw she was grinning.

"I resent that," he said, turning away, fidgeting with his book, wondering if he could fool Lizzy into thinking he was still angry. "Why can't I be the pissed-off_, hot_ British rock idol?"

Lizzy wasn't fooled. She was smiling too much to be fooled. "Besides," she said, sipping her coffee again and slipping an arm around his waist, "you're a much better kisser than he is."

No one couldn't possibly be fooled now. _He_ was smiling too widely to fool anybody.

"Now," Lizzy said, smiling up at him, "I'd like a 'Merry Christmas' kiss."

Jane leaned over her coffee mug, her elbows on the counter, her hands over her mouth, muffling her laughter.

"You've had coffee," Will complained.

"So have you," she said, nodding at the coffee mug he'd left next to his book. "Get over it."

Will kissed her and felt her hand run through his hair fondly. Then he heard a loud groan, halfway across the room, and his sister's voice complaining, "It's too bloody early for this sort of thing."

Lizzy broke the kiss and turned, laughing when she saw Giana burying her face in a bemused Jimmy's chest. "Well, Merry Christmas to you too," Lizzy said, leaning her head on Will's shoulder and lacing her fingers through his.

Giana gasped, jerking her head back to look up at Jimmy. "It's _Christmas!_" she cried and kissed him, her arms around his neck.

Will grimaced. "They could at least wait for the mistletoe."

"We didn't," she reminded him with a snort.

"Would you believe that they've fought this morning?" Jane asked the couple in the living room, her mug between her hands, a smile creeping around her mouth.

"Who? Will and Lizzy?" Giana asked, taking Jimmy's hand and tugging him into the kitchen.

"Already?" Jimmy asked and grinned when Will scowled.

Jane nodded with an affectionate smile directed to her twin. "Yes, but they've already managed to make up."

"Congratulations, then," Giana said with a smirk, patting her brother's shoulder fondly. "That should earn you some sort of record."

12.

Lizzy woke suddenly, stripped down to only her long underwear, her breath ragged in her throat, and for a long tense moment, she couldn't remember where she was. She sat, waiting, her back against the wooden headboard, her hands fisted in the dark green quilt. Then she noticed Will's plaid pajamas, folding neatly across the back of the rocking chair in the corner, and relaxed, slumping backwards. The clock read 3:23, but the heavy curtains blocked out too much light to tell if it were afternoon or morning. Afternoon, Lizzy decided, throwing her covers off her legs and placing her feet on the rough carpet. Will would be next to her if it were nighttime already.

Pushing her hair from her face, Lizzy found the tender spot behind her ear and winced. _That_ was why she wasn't still skiing, why she'd come back to take a nap. She'd fallen, earlier, on her second run of the morning. She was too distracted by racing Will down the mountain to notice the icy patch in front of her, and a good long skid spun her into the trees. She'd knocked her head on a very tall pine, not hard, not hard enough for a concussion anyway, but hard enough to give her a really terrible headache. Will picked her up, helped her back into her skis, and skied with her slowly back to the cabin, carrying her poles and keeping close enough to make sure she didn't fall again. The last thing Lizzy remembered was Will's face above her, frowning sharply with worry, as he tucked her into bed and she told him that he should go out, not to let her ruin a good day of skiing.

"I'll go in a while. After you've fallen asleep," he'd told her, stroking her face gently, his cheeks still red from the cold outside. "While I'm out, I'm going to find us some helmets. All right?" And Lizzy had been too tired to argue, had only squeezed his hand a little in response.

After pulling on the nearest pair of jeans, Lizzy stumbled into the living room, knocking her shoulder hard on the doorframe and grumbling, but it wasn't until she stepped on one of the bright red balls of crumpled wrapping paper on the floor that she remembered it was still Christmas. The others apparently weren't back yet, but it was too late to go skiing again. The lifts closed in just a little over an hour.

Lizzy blinked and looked around the room, wondering what she should do with herself. The Christmas tree looked lonely next the piano, now that the presents had been handed out; the needles had started falling off, too. But the decorations were still hanging on its branches, looking more festive than Lizzy was awake enough to feel. There were coffee mugs discarded and scattered around the room, so Lizzy collected them absent and took them to the kitchen. Then, she found an empty trash bag in the kitchen and started stuffing the abandoned wrapping paper and ribbons into it. It amused her a little that the unwrapped gifts were still sitting in stacks on top of and against the furniture, that everyone had left their presents behind after the morning festivities.

There was Jimmy's cello case, the soft kind that he could wear as a backpack; Lizzy and Giana had split the cost for it so that Jimmy didn't get uncomfortable getting such an expensive gift. Lizzy grinned, scooping up the red wrapping paper next to it and remembering Will's shocked face when Giana had explained that her boyfriend was _also_ a musician. The writing case Lizzy had given Giana was leaning just next to the case, filled with sharpened pencils, music folders, and paper lined for musical theory. At Giana's questioning face, Lizzy had been forced to explain, "Will told me you've been composing your own stuff."

Making her way around the room, Lizzy couldn't find the stack belonging to the Fitzwilliams. Maggie must've already walked them back to the guest cottage right away. Lizzy's camera was sitting on the arm of the couch where Fitz, Maggie, and the baby had been opening presents, and she picked up the film canisters next to it, absently shoving them in her pocket. It would probably take maybe a week in Lizzy's apartment darkroom to develop the prints that would finish off their present: the one of Maggie and Fitz on either side of Zarine, helping her tear away the wrapping from the big, flat box Lizzy had just handed to them, the short tree looming above them; the next of Fitz, half-turned away and setting the gift box's top under the couch and of Maggie, one arm around Zarine's middle to steady the toddler and the other hand disappeared into the box, reaching for the scrapbook inside; the third of Fitz and Maggie holding the scrapbook between them, Maggie's face blocked by Lizzy's gift, but Fitz frowning at it, despite Zarine's tight-fisted grip on her father's red crest; another of the three of them, looking straight into the camera, paying attention with wide eyes as Lizzy explained the gift—a scrapbooked collection of all the shots she'd stolen and composed in the Fitzwilliam's less observant moments and plenty of loose prints tucked between the pages, waiting for frames. Under their busy circumstances, they probably never got a chance for a regular family portrait of a posed Walmart variety, Lizzy had told them; the scrapbook was supposed to be a kind of substitute for that, a partial chronicle of their growing family.

Lizzy _really _wished she could've gotten pictures of the aftermath.

Maggie had launched herself at Lizzy, hugging her tightly around the neck and asking, "Can you do another one, Lizzy? When the other one comes along?" Then Fitz had announced that they were pregnant again, but Maggie'd still had Lizzy's arms pinned in a tight hug so she missed shooting a couple pictures of the explosion of congratulations that followed. Later, in the kitchen, she'd really, _really_ wanted to take a photograph of Fitz's troubled, touched face as he apologized in the kitchen, for the "sell-out" comment of the night before, his red hair fluffed higher as he ran his hands through it worriedly. It was all right, though, that she couldn't bring herself to take it; she only wanted it for evidence, really. She would have never thought that Fitz would apologize; she didn't expect him to care that much, except maybe if Will nagged him a lot. But Fitz _had_ apologized; he'd even hugged her tightly, as tightly as Maggie had, squeezing around the shoulders, and told her that she was a good person. And a really great photographer.

Leaning against the arm of a leather sofa, she tied the full trash bag closed and decided that this one was a good Christmas. Maybe the best. She'd kind of botched it with her gift to Jane and Charlie—a welcome mat with their future names in giant letters, but how was she supposed to know that Jane hadn't told Charlie that she was planning to be a Dr. Jane Bennet and never a Dr. Bingley? And Will's present—Will's _reaction_ to his present--more than made up for that.

"What is it?" Will had asked as she handed him a three-foot-long cylinder, wrapped in black and white striped paper, an envelope hanging off it like a tag. "A fishing pole of some kind?"

"Of course not," Lizzy had snorted, sitting cross-legged on the coffeetable in front of him and snapping a picture. "We made an agreement not to give each other anything we could buy, remember? I definitely can't _make_ a fishing pole."

"Why?" Jimmy had asked as Giana wrapped the blue and white scarf she'd knitted him around his neck.

"I don't know anything _about_ fishing," Lizzy said, wrinkling her nose. "I've never tried."

"I suppose I'll have to teach you then," Will said with a small, teasing grin. "The streams around Pemberley—"

"He means why can't you buy anything for each other," Giana explained, settling to a seat next to Jimmy, grasping his hand.

"Gives me an unfair advantage," Will explained with a sigh, hooking a finger under the paper and ripping it end-to-end along the cardboard underneath. "One that Lizzy won't let me keep."

Before he could pull off the plastic top and peek inside, Lizzy grabbed his hand. "Uh-uh. The envelope first, please. Otherwise, I'll have to explain things out of order and ruin some of the shock factor."

"So I'm supposed to be shocked?" Will asked with a slight smile, pulling the envelope off the wrapping.

"Trust me," said Lizzy with a smirk as she refocused the camera on Will's face. "There's no doubt about it."

Will grinned at Lizzy as he tugged up the flap (Lizzy hadn't even bothered to seal it) and pulled out the paper folded inside. "How shocked are you expecting?" he asked, unfolding it. "On a scale of 1 to 5? I should know so I can fake it if I need—" He let his gaze drop, squinting down at it without his glasses. Then his eyes widened, his mouth opened slightly, and Lizzy snapped a picture gleefully. Will looked up, _completely_ shocked. "Lizzy, how did you get this?"

"Wait—what is it?" Giana asked shuffling over on her knees to come see.

"It's a contract between HEET and one Elizabeth Bennet," Will explained, angling it so his sister could see. "Stating the exception of Pemberley from the Countryside Tour, starting the first of the year."

"So, basically, in a week," Lizzy said, feeling absurdly pleased with herself.

"What's HEET?" Jane asked.

"Historical English Estate Tours. They're the people who tramp through Pemberley twice a week," Giana explained. "Father signed Pemberley into an agreement just before he died, and Will's been trying to get us out of it ever since."

"How did you manage it, Lizzy?" Will asked again. "I've tried _everything_. Everything I could think of."

"Did you sleep with the president of the company?" Fitz asked and blinked innocently when Will turned to glare at him. "Because I'm pretty sure Will didn't think of that."

"You know when I told you I was going to France?" Lizzy said grinning, cradling her camera in the crook of her arm.

"In February or April?" Will asked. "You went twice."

"February. In April, I really did have a shoot in Provence," Lizzy said, "but in February, I never _made_ it as far as France. I went to England."

"So you lied," Will said with a slight frown.

"Yep," replied Lizzy with a cheerful shrug. "But only because you'd ask me too many questions if I told you I was going to England. Lemme tell you the truth: Cynthia Grayson tipped me off. Said HEET was revamping their marketing campaign. So, I sent them some slides of the time I went a couple summers ago with Aunt Diana and Uncle Sam. _And_ I offered to give them the rest, and also come back and do the same thing for winter _if_ they released Pemberley from its ten year contract. Then there was some bargaining, there was some photography, and then there was _that_," she said, tapping the paper in Will's hand. "That's just a copy, by the way; Cynthia Grayson's got the original at Pemberley already."

"It's wonderful, Lizzy," Will said beaming. "Absolutely brilliant."

"No. Save the compliments until you've opened the other one," Lizzy said grinning and picked up her camera again.

"You really shouldn't have, Lizzy. This is quite enough," Will protested, but Lizzy snapped a picture of Will reaching for the cardboard cylinder eagerly. "I didn't get you two presents."

"If you're really worried about it, then one of them can count for Valentine's Day," Lizzy said impatiently, clicking away as Will pulled off the top of the cylinder. "Careful. They're _really_ old."

"You know, you should come to visit us again," Giana said, looking at Lizzy thoughtfully. "At Pemberley, I mean. There are plenty of rooms—"

"She won't come," Will said with a small, wry grin, drawing out the coiled papers inside. Its protective plastic coverings crinkled as they came out.

Lizzy let her camera drop slightly and scowled, and Giana lifted her chin and said haughtily, "And how do you know? Have you asked her?"

"Of course," Will replied. He unrolled the papers gently, slow and careful, but he was smiling in Lizzy's direction. "Don't look at me like that. You've always refused to meet me there. You know very well that once you've returned to Pemberley, you'll never leave."

Maggie and Fitz were exchanging significant glances, and Lizzy didn't have time to argue, not when Will was already holding his present up so he and his sister could look. When Will's jaw dropped again abruptly, Lizzy laughed and snapped a picture. "Dear God," he said softly, lowering the present slightly to stare at Lizzy. "Dear God."

"What is it?" Maggie said, mouth half open already but smiling as she came to look.

"Blueprints," Giana said, leaning on the back of the sofa behind Will's head and Looking at her brother as if she was considering his sanity.

"Blueprints of _Pemberley_," Will corrected.

"Pemberley can't have blueprints," Fitz said, walking behind the couch with Zarine at his shoulder so he could look. "It's too old. You got ripped off, kiddo."

"I _did_ not. I never said they're the originals," Lizzy said huffily. "I doubt it _has_ blueprints from when it was built. _But _it was renovated once before—in 1909, I think. See the date, Will? Top, right-hand corner."

"Yes. 1909," Will said, squinting again. Lizzy resisted the urge to run and grab his new glasses.

"_That's_ when they put all those mirrors in the ballroom," Lizzy said. "Whoever was in charge of the project was really, really thorough. They made two sets of blueprints: one of the pre-existing estate with a lot of notes of the damage, and a second one for everything they were change in it."

"Huh," said Maggie, mouth open, head tilted and watching over Will's shoulder as he flipped a page.

"_Cool_," said Giana with a grin at Lizzy, as Jimmy succumbed to his own curiosity and came around the couch to take a peek too.

"But how did you _get_ them?" Will asked, looking them over. "I didn't even know these existed."

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "Brace yourself: this might piss you off some."

Will looked at Lizzy sharply, and Fitz moved Giana and Maggie a safe distance _away_ from his soon-to-be-angry cousin.

"Your dad sold it to HEET—well, the owner of it," Lizzy explained.

"Oh," said Will, his scowl relaxing visibly. "I could expect that from him."

"I thought you were about to tell us that you did have to trade a few sexual favors," Fitz said, looking vaguely disappointed.

"_Eww_," Lizzy said grimacing.

Giana smacked him from his left side hard enough to make her cousin wince and rub his arm. "Lizzy wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, that's _you,_" Maggie reminded him, hitting Fitz from his other side. "With _your_ sexual favors."

"All I did was photograph some portraits—of the owner, his family, and his grandmother," Lizzy explained, and she shrugged, palms outstretched, her camera raised in her left hand. "I probably could've bargained a little more, but I wasn't sure how much they were worth really."

"Priceless," suggested Fitz with a grin.

"Yeah," Giana agreed thoughtfully, "but only to Will."

"Lizzy, I—" Will started and gulped, looking at the blueprints in his hands. Lizzy smiled. Then Will handed off the papers to Giana, leaving them flapping in her hands, as he reached forward to kiss Lizzy fiercely.

"Not _again_," Giana moaned, turning away, her hand over her eyes.

"Marry me," Will told Lizzy, pulling her in his lap.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose, her camera resting on her thighs, her arms around his neck. "That's _not _what you're supposed to say, Mr. Darcy. You're supposed to say, '_Thanks,_ Lizzy—that was the best present ever.'"

"Thank you, Lizzy," Will said and kissed her again, despite his sister's loud protesting.

"You're welcome," said Lizzy grinning, adjusting her seat sideways so that once arm was around his shoulders and her legs were stretched out over the cushions beside them. "While you're at it, you might tell me that as a Christmas present, you won't try to tell me what to do for the rest of the day—no, rest of the week. Which only three days."

"All right," Will said, grinning as she laced her fingers through his. "Any other requests, Miss Bennet?"

Unfortunately, Lizzy didn't have enough time to make any more requests—otherwise, she'd see how far she could've pushed Will in a very grateful mood—because Charlie and Jane had come downstairs with bags filled with hurriedly wrapped presents.

Lizzy snorted, crushing the garbage bag filled with wrapping paper under her arm, and glancing around at the white-cloth wrapped in clear plastic in every stack. Charlie and Jane were definitely up to something. Despite all that alleged "Christmas shopping," they still managed to give everybody the _same_ gift, in different sizes: white, skin-tight, extra-extra-thick long underwear. Jane wouldn't stand teasing about it, either. When Lizzy tried to make a joke, Jane had snapped, "Well, it's something everybody can _use_, right? You can use it tomorrow."

It was 3:37, Lizzy noticed, looking into the kitchen. A little _less_ than an hour before the lifts closed.

Lizzy put the paper-filled trash bag aside and searched for aspirin in the cupboard or for _something_ for her aching head. Leaning on the cool oven for extra leverage, she remembered with a grimace that it was _her_ turn to make dinner.

She could probably get out of it—what with her head banged up and the leftovers from the Christmas Eve feast. But Lizzy didn't feel like eating leftovers.

Lizzy opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the turkey inside. Then a door slammed somewhere, and Lizzy couldn't keep herself from jumping, dropping the Tupperware container on the floor. She froze and didn't make a move to pick it up until she heard a young, British voice shout, "Lizzy! Are you still alive!"

The Tupperware, thankfully, didn't crash open when it hit the floor, and the turkey was safe inside.

"_Giana_," scolded another voice. Maggie. "What if she's still asleep?"

"I'm not asleep," Lizzy called back, snatching the Tupperware from the floor. "I'm in the kitchen."

There was the sound of plastic boot on slate tile, and then Giana was running out of the mud room and through the living room on socked feet, her long, brown hair a little tangled and shivering down her back, her ski goggles still on top of her head. "'Lo, Lizzy!" she cried cheerfully. "We're been sent to make sure that you've not fallen into a coma.--Does it hurt?" Giana asked, watching Lizzy peel the top off the turkey Tupperware. "Do you need aspirin? I can get you some aspirin."

"I got some already," Lizzy said with a small smile, "thanks."

"I'm glad you haven't go a concussion," Giana said, as she slid into a bar stool, kicking her feet and dropping her chin in her hands. "And don't feel bad about having a bit of a tumble. I fell down last year, landed pretty hard, but I only wretched my wrist a bit. _Fitz_ told me he fell down once, off a cliff—a _small_ cliff, obviously. Otherwise, there'd be no Fitz. And probably no Zarine either. Anyway, he fell off a cliff and broke three fingers, knocked himself unconscious, and busted his chin right here along the jaw," she explained, pointed underneath her chin. "You can still see the scar. It's quite impressive actually."

Maggie exited the mudroom, her jacket folded over her arm, and headed straight to the closet at the front entrance to hang it up. "You're making dinner?" Maggie said, frowning over at them. "You don't have to do that. You're hurt; we can make due with what we have left from last night."

Lizzy smirked. "I was thinking soup tonight. Turkey and Rice."

"Soup. Mmm-mmm good," said Giana.

Maggie opened the fridge and glanced over what was inside. "We've probably got some carrots and celery to add to it, too."

"That's a jingle, Giana," Lizzy said laughing. "For Campbell's."

Giana pouted for Lizzy's benefit. "Oh. I suppose that's why my friends laughed whenever I said that. Why the hell didn't Jimmy tell me then?"

"He probably thought it was cute," Maggie said, pulling out a cutting board from one of the bottom cabinets. "That boy _adores_ you."

"No, he _loves _her," Lizzy corrected and glanced over to see if Giana would blush.

She did and shook her hair forward to hide, just like Will did, but with more success. Giana's hair was longer than Will's.

Maggie looked between Lizzy and Giana, shocked and open-mouthed. "Yeah?" she mouthed at Lizzy, who nodded. "When?"

"Yesterday," Lizzy mouthed back.

"Yes, of course," Giana said, brushing her long hair back when her cheeks had cooled to a very becoming pinnk. "He loves me _so_ much that he decided to go on one last run, 'just us guys,' sending us womenfolk to handle the bloody cooking. Stupid Jimmy. I _knew_ Will would be a bad influence."

Lizzy laughed, and Maggie said, "It's _Fitz_ that's the bad influence. And it's not just them guys. They've got Zarine with them."

Lizzy paused in the middle of her cabinet search for the chicken bouillon. "Fitz took the baby?" she asked quietly.

"He's decided Zarine will be the youngest girl _ever_ to learn how to snowboard," Giana said, swinging the barstool back and forth with her body weight. "The first step is getting her on the slopes."

"She's safe," Maggie assured Lizzy when she noticed Lizzy's skeptical frown. "She's strapped to Fitz's stomach in her baby satchel. He won't let anything happen to her."

Lizzy pulled a large pot out from under the sink and filled it with water. Looking out the window over the sink, she said, "It looks kinda stormy out there."

"It _might_ snow," Giana agreed. "It's certainly cold enough. For a bit, I wasn't _really_ sure that I still had my toes. I've counted them, though. They're all there.—Do you need _help_, Lizzy? I can cut things."

"No, you can't. You've got to help me clean up the living room," Maggie told her.

"Wha? _Why_?" Giana complained, dropping her chin back into her hands and scowling. "It's _Christmas_."

"Which means we've got a lot of presents to pick up," Maggie told her, grabbing the girl's shoulder and helping her out of her chair. "People are still going to need a place to sit."

"This is the _last_ time I go on vacation with all _you_ lot," Giana grumbled, sulkily wandering toward the nearest stack of presents. "Everyone seems to think it's all right to boss me around, just because I'm slightly younger than the rest of you. I've got a mind of my own, you know."

"Uh-huh," Maggie said soothingly, stooping to settle a stack of gift boxes into a larger stack. "I'll take Jane and Charlie's, if you get yours and Jimmy's."

"Mags!" cried a voice in the mudroom. The door opened a second later, and Fitz tramped in, snow clinging to his pants and boots, Zarine screaming on his front.

"Fitz? What happened to one more run?" Maggie asked, putting the presents on the counter.

"But Zarine—she's upset," Fitz whispered horrified. "She had an _echo_, Mags. Off the mountain."

"What wrong with her?" Maggie asked, as Fitz handed Zarine over.

"Dunno," Fitz said, watching his wife peel away the baby's layers. "First, she was fussing, then she was screaming, then she was all red-faced—"

"Got it, no need to elaborate there," Giana interrupted. "It's not like we've not all been there before."

"Do you think she's sick? Do you think it was too cold for her?" Fitz asked worriedly.

"No, we've been here before," Maggie said calmly, tugging off the baby's miniature ski pants and reveling the swollen diaper underneath. "Where's her diaper bag?"

"That's when you know you've got too many layers on," Giana said, putting the cello case's strap of her shoulder and taking an armful of things into her bedroom.

"Against the wall, next to the door," Lizzy said, jerking her chin over that way, glancing at Zarine's red, howling face.

"Is _that_ all?" Fitz muttered relieved, pulling his cap off his head and rubbing his hair back to a red crest. "I thought she—"

"Yeah, yeah, here," Maggie replied, grabbing the diaper bag strap and tossing it to her husband. Fitz caught it, scowling, and took the baby when Maggie handed her back.

"Wanna trade?" Fitz asked hopefully, cradling the baby against his shoulder.

"Not really," said Maggie, lifting her chin and giving him a pert grin as she grabbed Jane and Charlie's stack of presents and trotted with them upstairs.

Fitz sighed, and Lizzy ducked her head and resumed chopping the celery, trying not to laugh. Fitz noticed and half-grinned, laying Zarine down on an endtable. "How's your head, kiddo?"

Lizzy shrugged. "Fine."

"Hurts, huh?" Fitz said with a sympathetic nod.

"I took a Motrin," Lizzy said, shrugging again. She noticed Giana gathering up a bunch of Will's things. "Don't worry about those, Giana. I'll get it."

"That's quite all right," Giana said with a sweet smile, tucking Will's new long underwear under her arm and disappearing into Will and Lizzy's room.

"If you've got anything you want to hide, I'd do it now," Fitz advised, pulling out the baby wipes and a fresh diaper. "She's gonna snoop while she's in there."

To prove it, Giana called out right then, her voice just inside the door, "Will _is_ neat. I've not noticed it before. Look, he's put all his socks in the drawer and organized them by color."

Fitz grinned at Lizzy smugly, way more smug than he had any right to be as he was pulling baby wipes from the box.

"Yep," Lizzy called back, lifting the lid off the pan on the stovetop and pushing a pile of carrots into the soup.

"He's kinda weird that way," Fitz agreed, grimacing as he rolled Zarine's diaper up.

Lizzy grimaced in sympathy; she could _almost_ smell it, even all the way across the room. "The only thing I take that much care of is my film."

"Aww…" Giana cried. Her voice was a little fainter now; Lizzy guessed that she'd gone into the bathroom. "You've got both your toothbrushes in the same cup. Jimmy and I don't have a cup," she added wistfully. "We just lay them by the sink like normal _boring _people."

"You could _get _a cup, you know," Lizzy suggested, putting the top of the soup pot back on and turning the gas underneath to a simmering level. "Just grab a mug or something out of the kitchen."

"But then we'd be copycats," Giana said. Her voice was louder now. She was coming back out. "And we can't have—ooo look, Lizzy! You've got a present on your nightstand! It's wrapped. Did you forget to give to give someone their present?"

"I doubt it," Lizzy said, pulling off her oven mitts and leaning against the kitchen counter. "I'm pretty sure I've given all mine away. Good thing, too—I could use the room in my suitcase."

Giana emerged from Will and Lizzy's room, carrying a large, flat, square box, wrapped in blue paper with a silver bow on top. "I figured it out," she said triumphantly. "Although I must confess that reading the tag proved a _huge_ help. It says, _To Lizzy—From Will_. It doesn't _get_ much clearer than that now, does it?" Giana asked, settling the box in front of Lizzy.

"He didn't give it to you yet?" Fitz asked, strapping the fresh diaper on Zarine.

"He just said he'd give it to me later," Lizzy replied, eyeing it curiously. He must've put it on the nightstand so that she'd see it when she woke up, and she'd just walked right by it. Several times.

"You should open it," Giana said eagerly, nudging it forward, closer to Lizzy.

"Well, I kind of got the feeling it'd embarrass him to have an audience," Lizzy said, frowning at it slightly, fingering the bow.

"Ooo, that privacy thing we keep hearing about," Giana said, as she slipped into a barstool, facing the kitchen, giving herself a front row seat.

"You don't get that here," Fitz said, lifting Zarine back on his hip and starting to stuff things back into the diaper bag. "You can only find it in the cottage house."

"It's over-rated anyway," Giana said, pulling her hair back and tying it into a ponytail.

"What's over-rated?" Maggie asked, tramping out of the staircase and slipping into a barstool before she noticed what was sitting in front of Lizzy. "Ooo, Will gave you your present finally," Maggie said, mouth open and half-grinning. "Well?" she said expectantly. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"I don't know," Lizzy said slowly. "I assumed he was going to watch."

"No, no, no—of course not. He'd be much too embarrassed," Giana protested.

"Fitz!" shouted a voice in the mudroom, and Fitz balked. Even Zarine turned toward the door.

"Uh-oh, what'd you do?" Maggie asked her husband.

"You left your snowboard in the middle of the trail," Charlie told him.

"It couldn't be helped," Fitz sniffed, walking over to the trashcan with Zarine on her shoulder. "We had a diaper emergency to take care of."

"Well, Jane crashed right into it," Charlie said.

Lizzy gasped. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Charlie said. "She just put a huge scratch down the bottom of it."

"Sorry!" cried Jane's voice from the mudroom.

"Aww, shit," Fitz muttered, standing up. Zarine beat her hands on the top of his shoulder with a small, excited giggle.

"It's your fault," Maggie reminded her husband, but he sulked anyway.

Jane came in, tugging her jacket off and biting her lip worriedly, snowflakes clinging to her red hair. "I'm really sorry, Fitz. I just didn't see it. It had a layer of snow over, and it blended in, and—"

"Don't worry about it," Fitz shrugged, setting Zarine on the floor so that she could roam around. My fault."

"Good boy," said Maggie, patting him on the shoulder.

"Whoa," said Giana, twisting around in her barstool and glancing out the window where flakes were sauntering down from the sky. "It's snowing."

"Aren't you missing one?" Lizzy asked, trying to peer behind Charlie into the mudroom.

"Two actually," Giana said, tucking her hair behind her ears and taking a look for herself.

"They went up for another run, before the lifts close," Charlie said, heading for the stairs.

"Nope, just Will," said Jimmy, coming out of the mudroom, his goggles still over his eyes. He was carrying Fitz's snowboard in his hands. "I had to use the bathroom."

"Hurrah for bathroom breaks!" cried Giana, throwing her arms in the air.

Jimmy was smiling that he didn't want Giana to catch him at it. "Hey, Giana.—Your snowboard isn't all that bad off," Jimmy told Fitz. "I think all that came off was some of the wax."

"Oh, I do love it when you get all do-it-yourself, Jimmy," Giana said, batting her eyes dramatically over the back of her barstool. Jimmy grinned.

"Hey, you're opening Will's gift?" Charlie said, catching sight of the present on the kitchen counter.

Jane gasped, twin spots of windburn on her cheeks.

"Wanna watch?" Fitz asked grinning.

"_I_ want to see," Jane said, bouncing on her socked feet and grinning, her hands on Charlie's shoulder as they walked closer.

"Could you wait until I get back?" Jimmy asked, ducking backwards into his bedroom with a hopeful grin.

Lizzy frowned, her eyes narrowed, her hand on top of the box. "Does anyone else think it's weird that everybody is going to watch this except the man who's giving it to me?"

"Nope," said Fitz, leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed and smirking.

"_Open_ it," Giana told Lizzy, drumming on the box's top.

Maggie picked up Zarine from the floor and settled her daughter in her lap, pulling the baby's hat off and smooth the hair underneath. "They're only curious, because Will's been asking for advice since October."

"Since your _birthday_," Jane corrected in a whisper.

"Why?" Lizzy asked.

"Because not all of us can miraculously discover antique blueprints for our Christmas giving pleasure," Fitz replied.

"No, because this time he wanted to give you something you wouldn't make him take back," Charlie explained.

"Back," Jimmy said cheerfully, popping out of the bedroom.

"Most of us already know what it is anyway," Maggie offered.

"That wasn't entirely Lizzy's fault—the presents," Giana protested, as Lizzy tugged at the end of the silver ribbon and undid the bow. "Giving Lizzy a diamond necklace their first Christmas, that wasn't really the best idea he's ever had."

"The diamond necklace part I didn't mind," Lizzy grumbled, tugging off the ribbon. "It was that it was a diamond necklace that _matched _the engagement ring he gave me. The one I hadn't started wearing yet."

"And you really can't expect Lizzy to expect a brand-new car as a birthday present," Jane added, grinning as Lizzy started ripping away the blue paper.

"Hey. I gave Maggie a car for _her_ birthday," Fitz protested.

Maggie snorted. "You mean that little red convertible whose keys are on _your_ keychain?"

"Oh. Shit," Fitz muttered, running his hand through his hair sheepishly, as Jimmy, Giana, and Jane laughed.

Lizzy's mouth fell open, the blue wrapping paper crushed between both hands, staring at the wooden box she'd revealed. It was square, about a foot by a foot. The polish was dark and gleaming, the top inlaid with lighter wood, carved in the shape of vines similar to the ones she'd photographed climbing up Pemberley. "Will _made_ this?" she asked with an incredulous smile.

Charlie grimaced and looked at Fitz. Fitz said, "Uh…." and glanced Maggie's way, and frowning over the top of Zarine's head, Maggie opened her mouth and closed it.

"He bought it," Giana said with a smirk, her chin in her hands. "I was there when he bought it. I helped him pick it out," she added in a whisper.

"Good choice," Maggie commented.

"Thanks," Giana replied with a wider smirk.

"Cheater," Lizzy sighted, crumpling the paper in her right hand and trailing her fingers across the slick, smooth top of the box, smiling fondly. "But I won't make him take this one back."

"He couldn't actually," Giana explained. "We were at an arts fair."

"Here, Lizzy," Fitz said, leaning over the back of the couch and beckoning her forward with one finger, "I'll tell you a secret."

Lizzy leaned forward, glancing at her sister, whose head was still on Charlie's shoulder, her lips pressed together to keep from laughing.

Fitz cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered, "The present is _inside_ the box that Will bought."

"Oh," said Lizzy self-consciously, pulling up the box's lid. Inside were many scraps of paper, all folded, hundreds even, some ripped from notebooks, some straight-edged, mostly white but with bits of blue and red and green mixed in. Lizzy lifted one near the top, unfolded it, with the tips of her fingers, noticed Will's neat handwriting—a date: August 13 and a half a poem:

_Escape me?_

_Never—_

_Beloved!_

_While I am I, and you are you,_

_So long as the world contains us both,_

_Me the loving and you the loth,_

_While the one eludes, must the other pursue._

--Robert Browning's "Life in a Love"

Lizzy couldn't keep herself from snorting. Or from smiling.

"Will read a lot of poetry on the tourbus," Maggie explained.

"Looking for song material," Charlie added. "You know, for the fourth album."

Lizzy picked out another one, several pages thick, a whole poem this time. Will had underlined his favorite parts, and Lizzy read the last page first:

_September 16_

…

_At our age the imagination_

_ across the sorry facts_

_lifts us_

_to make roses_

_ stand before thorns._

_ Sure_

_love is cruel_

_and selfish_

_and totally obtuse—_

_at least, blinded by the light,_

_ young love is._

_ But we are older,_

_I to love_

_and you to be loved_

_ we have,_

_no matter how,_

_ by our wills survived_

_ to keep_

_the jeweled prize_

_always_

_ at our finger tips_

_We will it so_

_ and so it is_

_ past all accident._

--William Carlos Williams' "The Ivy Crown"

"He kept writing down bits he wanted to show you," Maggie was saying, "and he _said_ he was going to email you—"

"But _I'm_ the only one Will emails anyway," Giana said.

"Because she's the only one who makes more typos than he does," Fitz hissed in a loud whisper, and Giana scowled back at him.

"Basically, he realized how many he collected and _I_ convinced him that this was an appropriate Christmas gift," Giana explained, turning back to Lizzy.

"Oh," said Lizzy quietly, folding "The Ivy Crown" carefully, fingers still resting on the lid.

Giana hitched her chin up, trying to peer inside. Then, she reached in the box, pulling out a small, torn scrap of paper.

Before anyone else could pick samples out of her box, Lizzy picked up the box and carried through the living room, pressed tight against her stomach under crossed arms. On her way to the Grand Piano, she paused next to the arm of a couch and slipped a hand through the strap of her camera, taking it with her across the room.

"Aww, the _camera_," said Fitz, grinning as Lizzy settled the box to the top of the piano, on the end closest to the keyboard.

"That's a good sign," Jane said with a decisive smiling nod, her red hair brushing her jaw. Charlie stroked the back of her head, all the way down to where her hair ended and her neck began, and settled her arm around her shoulders.

Lizzy adjusted the box, angling it at the edge of the piano top, on leaf-carved corner hanging off. She raised the lens to her face and took a step back to include the Christmas tree in the frame before snapping a couple shots.

Giana opened the folded paper and read aloud, bemused, "_How many loved your moments of glad grace/ and loved your beauty with love false or true/But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you/ And love the sorrows of your changing face_. W. B. Yeats. Dated June 12th. You know, I can't really imagine Lizzy as pilgrim."

"Me neither," said Maggie.

"The square collars—probably not a good look for her," Jane added with a small grin in Charlie's direction.

"I _suppose_ it's romantic," Giana said skeptically.

"It _is_ romantic," Lizzy corrected, lifting the box's lid. The small landscape of folded white papers contrasted sharply against the dark wood of the piano. The snowflakes that the wind was blasting against the window cast an eerie bright gleam just in front of the box.

"Ladies and gentleman, I do believe we've got ourselves a very _successful_ present," Fitz announced.

"Hurrah!" cried Giana.

"Now all we need is Will," Charlie said, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin.

"Yes, you should thank him, Lizzy," said Jane, turning toward her sister. "He really worked hard this time."

The shutter clicked in Lizzy's camera, but she was looking beyond the box, at the window—snow blown and packing in its corners, then out the window—at the scenery bleached white with falling snow, at the looming light gray shapes that Lizzy knew there were trees, at the trail from the ski slopes. Lizzy squinted out past the thick, falling flakes, but she couldn't see the tracks that ran in long, straight lines down the trail.

"What time do the lifts close?" Lizzy heard herself ask, just to make sure.

"Uh…4:30," replied Charlie.

Lizzy glanced over her shoulder, at the clock on the microwave. It was 4:34.

"Will probably got to the bottom right at 4:29," Maggie said grinning. "He drove the lift operators crazy all last year, getting there right when they were trying to close down."

"Hey, I helped," Fitz reminded her cheerfully.

"Yeah," Maggie said, kissing the corner of her husband's mouth, Zarine laughing at her hip, "you were right there with him."

Lizzy felt someone press something into her hand. "Here." It was Giana, and the part of a poem copied in Will's neat print. Giana took a seat at the piano bench and dropped her hands into a few expert chords, as Lizzy read Yeats' lines over again and burst into a laugh. Next the line "_loved your beauty false and true_," Will had drawn an arrow from "false" and scribbled Collins' name in parentheses.

"I'm glad you like it, Lizzy," Giana said quietly. "It'll make Will very happy."

Who was it that told Lizzy that? That love was when your happiness was defined by others? It wasn't her mother. It might have been Jane, back in the days between the Netherfield Christmas party and Charlotte's wedding.

"When's dinner going to be ready?" Jimmy asked.

"When the rice softens up some," Lizzy replied, refolding the Yeats and pushing it carefully to the bottom of the pile. "It's probably still a little crunchy at the moment."

"There's leftovers if you want something right now," Maggie suggested.

Giana started plucking a Christmas carol into the keyboard: "I Wish You A Merry Christmas." Jane hummed along, endearingly off-tune.

"Ooo, do we have some more of that green stuff?" Fitz asked, trying to peer into the fridge as Jimmy opened it.

"Green bean casserole," Maggie corrected.

"We've got it," Jimmy said, pulling it out and dropping it on the counter. He was grinning, Lizzy noticed; he was trying not to laugh.

It was 4:37. Lizzy wandered toward the phone sitting lonely on top of an endtable and punched in a number. She hung up as soon as she heard a ring coming in three short blasts from the room she shared with Will.

"You lose your cell phone, Lizzy?" Jane asked worriedly

Lizzy half-smiled, shook her head, and returned the phone to its receiver. The number she'd called was Will's.

"_Wow_," Giana said, turning toward the window. "It's _snowing_."

"Yeah, we talked about that when we came in, remember?" Jimmy said. Lizzy didn't realize he was teasing until Giana stuck her tongue out at him. Jimmy shrugged, grinning, shoving a small Tupperware of stuffing in the microwave and punching buttons.

"Giana, do you know 'White Christmas'?" Maggie asked, as Fitz reconnected the walls of the playpen.

"Of course," Giana said, pausing over the keys, "but you rather should've _expected_ a white Christmas on a mountain in Montana."

"I meant the _song_," Maggie said, setting Zarine down, open-mouthed and standing, in the inside of the playpen. Fitz returned to the kitchen.

Lizzy returned to the window, watching the snow fall and the wind press it against the window. She thought she saw a figure skim over the trail, but it was only snow being blown from the trees.

"Bing Crosby," Fitz told his cousin, scooping a spoonful of green bean casserole from the Tupperware and grimacing when he stuffed it into his mouth.

"Who?" asked Giana blankly.

"Now _I_ feel old," Maggie grumbled, carrying Zarine across the room and seating her gently in the middle of the playpen.

"_I_ know it," Jimmy added cheerfully. "Giana's just not much for the classics."

"Well, that depends on your definition of _classic_," Giana sniffed, and Fitz smirked and walked out the kitchen. "I got a much more thorough knowledge of Eighteenth Century composers than anyone else in this room."

"Scoot over, Miss Thorough Knowledge," Fitz said at Giana's elbow. Giana slid sideways, and Fitz seated himself and began the opening chords. "Hey, Mags? Can you heat up some of the green stuff for me? It's no good cold."

"Sure," said Maggie, walking around the bar and into the kitchen.

"_I'm dreaming of a White Christmas_," sang Charlie and kissed Jane's forehead tenderly.

"Ooo, I _do_ know this one. I've heard it somewhere. Jimmy, where have I heard it?" Georgiana asked.

"The Christmas _a_ _cappella_ concert," Jimmy replied, pulling the top off the stuffing Tupperware. "Three days before we left New York."

"_A cappella_," scoffed Giana. "What's so special about singing by yourself? What's _wrong_ with a bit of piano?"

Lizzy wondered how long it took to get from the top of the mountain, back to the cabin. She wondered how long it took through a blizzard. She'd never paid enough attention before.

"Not everyone's as good at piano as you are," Jimmy replied, cupping the bowl of steaming stuffing against his stomach and leaning his back to the bar.

Giana beamed. "I _knew _I loved you for a reason."

Lizzy turned farther away from the window, looking over her shoulder at Jimmy. She guessed right: he was blushing as he mumbled, "I…" and then three other words Lizzy couldn't catch.

"What? _What_ was that, Jimmy? I couldn't hear," Giana asked with a mischievous smile. "I got a piano making noises next to me, you know."

"_Making noises_?" Fitz repeated insulted. "It's music. _Music_."

"I love you, too," Jimmy said again and ducked his head when Fitz turned to him gaping.

"Thought so," said Giana in a sing-song.

"Lizzy," Fitz said horrified, his fingers still tripping over the keys. "You've corrupted my cousin. She's getting more and more like you."

"_Don't_ talk about us like that," Giana said sharply. "This is _my_ piano bench. I _can_ kick you off, you know."

"_See_," Fitz told Lizzy, and Giana promptly started shoving him over the edge of the bench. Fitz grinned and gripped the bottom of the seat, struggling to stay on.

Lizzy smiled just slightly and turned back to the window. She couldn't tell how much snow had fallen. The porch railing was capped by several white, fluffy inches, but she couldn't remember how much was there _before_ it started snowing.

"It's really coming down out there," Charlie was saying. "We came back just in the nick of—oww. _Jane_, what was that—"

Lizzy didn't have to turn around to know that Jane was telling Charlie to be quiet, to remember that Will was still outside, and couldn't he see how worried Lizzy was—

But Lizzy wasn't worried. It was 4:46. It was too early to early to be worried.

For some reason, though, her mind was taking her back to this morning—just before the Fitzwilliams had come for their present-opening festivities, when Jane and Lizzy were in the kitchen, making their respective breakfasts.

"That looks good," Will had said, nodding at the apples Lizzy was chopping and adding to a bowl of uncooked oatmeal. "I'll have that."

Lizzy remembered glancing over at him and smirking as she reached for Craisins in the nearest cabinet. "Get a cutting board and an apple," she'd replied, pouring some Craisins into the bowl, "and I'll show you how to make it."

"What?" Will had protested, mouth open, his tousled dark hair fanning out sideways from his head.

"You heard me," Lizzy'd said, moving to another cupboard, the one with the dishes. "Here, I'll even get a bowl."

"You couldn't make it for me?" Will had wondered as Lizzy pushed the bowl into his hand. "As sort of Christmas present?"

(This had been before Will realized that he was already receiving _two_ presents from Lizzy that morning.)

"Sure, but I'll have to take away one of your other presents," Lizzy'd said with a wry teasing grin. "Save it for another time or something."

"But Jane's making Charlie's breakfast," Will grumbled.

At the sound of her name, Jane looked up from the eggs she was cooking over the store. "Um…"

"I'm not Jane," Lizzy reminded him sharply.

Will brought his bowl down to the marble counter with a clatter. "Why is it that I have to fall in love with the one woman who begrudges me a bloody breakfast every once in a while?"

"Be thankful, Will," Giana called from the living room, eating cereal on the couch with her boyfriend. "Jimmy has to make his meal _and_ mine."

"I don't mind, though—" Jimmy started worriedly.

"First of all, it's Christmas, so you're not allowed to stay mad," Lizzy said. "Second, if you had _asked_ me—"

"I _did_ ask you," Will said exasperated.

"No, you _told_ me," Lizzy corrected. "If you'd asked me nicely, if it was a question—with a _please_ and _thank you _tacked on the end, I would've made it for you. Keep that in mind for next time you want something from me. And you also seem to be under the impression that Jane makes Charlie's breakfast out of the pure and sweet goodness of her heart. That isn't so. Now, I would tell you what Charlie does in _exchange_ for his breakfast—"

Jane gasped and whirled around, mouth open wide. "_Lizzy!_"

"But then my twin sister would have to kill me," Lizzy finished, handing Will the paring knife, handle first.

Will frowned slightly, wondering, as he picked a green apple from the fruit bowl. "What must Charlie do?" he asked Jane.

Jane closed her mouth quickly and turned back to the stovetop, blushing fiercely.

When she didn't answer, Will turned slightly to look at her, the knife poised over the apple, frowning. Lizzy smirked and slid her arms around his waist, whispering very softly in his ear, "Just so you don't try to ask Charlie, I _will_ tell you that his part of the bargain is sexual in nature."

Will had turned to her sharply, his jaw dropped, eyes wide, and Lizzy had laughed, hard, and taken a picture just before Jane guessed what was said and smacked her sister's shoulder.

It was funny at the time, but thinking back, Lizzy wandered if it was so important after all—making Will ask. It was just breakfast, right?

It was 4:47. It was still too early to be really worried. But Lizzy had to admit that she was getting concerned.

She went to the piano. Giana and Fitz had declared a truce to play more Christmas Carols, "O Christmas Tree" as a matter of fact, and Charlie was singing, with Jane under her arm, grinning and trying to keep herself from singing along. Lizzy pulled another slip of paper from the box Will had given her. She opened it:

_July 30_

_I would like to be the air_

_that inhabits you for a moment_

_only. I would like to be that unnoticed_

_& that necessary._

--Margaret Atwood

The tight feeling came back into Lizzy's chest, like someone was turning a screw just between her lungs. She went back to the window and leaned lightly against the frame. It was 4:49. Lizzy promised herself if Will wasn't back by five o'clock, she was going out after him, storm or no storm.

Maggie was talking to Zarine, helping her with an oversized felt and wood puzzle that Jane and Charlie had given her for Christmas. Jimmy was hanging back, wondering where his place was. It was 4:51.

Lizzy turned back to the window. The snow was thicker, or maybe concern was playing tricks on her. But Lizzy couldn't see the trail anymore; she couldn't even make out the trees across the driveway.

It was still 4:51. Time was moving too slow for Lizzy. It was a long time until five o'clock.

"…twenty minutes," Maggie was saying. "Should we call--?"

"Not yet." Fitz. "A few more minutes. He'd have to slow down for the storm."

It didn't comfort Lizzy any to hear that she wasn't the only one worrying. Her head ached, where she'd bumped it earlier, right behind her ear. She couldn't look away from the window.

Making Will ask, it really didn't seem so important now. She didn't mind him telling her what to do, not really. She didn't have to obey if she didn't want to, and he was probably too old to learn any different anyway. She just didn't want Will to try and boss her around for the rest of their lives.

"The flights." Jane. Jane, concerned. "You don't think…"

Charlie's voice was soothing but firm: "Not now. We'll call later."

A figure joined Lizzy at the window, long brown hair down her back, hands clasped behind her, face pale, mouth strained, dark eyes wide, her forehead pressed hard to the chilled windowpane. Giana's story came back to her, of Fitz's fall over a cliff, 'a _small_ cliff' but still, of his three broken fingers and busted chin, but it was the unconscious part that made her _really_ start to worry. She could imagine Will, skis tangled under him, almost buried in the snow, only one eye exposed and his mouth, lips tinged with purple.

She felt her nose prickle, just under the bridge, but she refused to cry. Instead, she took Giana's hand and clasped it tightly. Giana turned slightly, looking for reassurance, and Lizzy tried to smile.

It was 4:56.

The snow fell, heavy and thick, clinging to the trees.

Lizzy couldn't see anything but snow. Giana took a step closer, and Lizzy slid an arm around the girl's waist.

She'd never had a dream like this, losing Will to a snowstorm.

The room had gone worrisomely silent behind them.

If he would just tell her to marry him one more time; it didn't matter that he didn't ask—

She felt a cool hand smooth her hand behind her ear tenderly, and hoping it was Will, hoping he'd managed to sneak past her and surprise her again, she turned. But it was Jane. With a worried frown and troubled eyes.

"I'm sure he's fine," Jane said quietly, pushing Lizzy's hair from her face again. Lizzy didn't even try to smile this time. She nodded once uncertainly, looking away, looking beyond Jane to the clock on the microwave.

It was 4:59.

Close enough.

Lizzy pulled Giana closer and kissed her forehead tenderly before letting her go, before crossing the living room, and entering the bedroom she shared with Will. She pulled her ski pants back on and slung into her jacket. She marched out of her room, shoving her head into her cap.

"Lizzy—" began Jane uncertainly.

Lizzy didn't even look at her. She was zipping up her jacket, ears flattened under her ski cap; she was headed toward the mudroom's door.

Then Fitz was in front of her, tall, not as tall as Will, in between the kitchen counter and the back of a couch, blocking her way. "Where are you going, kiddo?"

Lizzy tried to shove past him roughly, but Fitz got a couple hands on her shoulders and he pushed her back, gentler than he needed to be.

"I asked you where you were going," he said again. He looked as stern as she'd ever seen him.

Lizzy glanced around, gauging who else would try to stop her. Jane was watching her with wide eyes, very blue in a very pale face; Charlie was glancing between the twins, as worried as Jane. Giana was still at the window, looking out, but Jimmy had gone to her, had even placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Maggie might have done something, but she was already occupied: the baby had noticed the tension in the room and had started to cry.

"Let go," Lizzy hissed, shrugging Fitz's hands from her shoulders. "If it was Maggie, you'd already be out there."

Fitz shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Nah, I'd stick around here, let the professionals handle it. Because they're _professionals_, right? Also, Zarine would miss me if I turned into a Fitzsicle."

Lizzy blinked, looking around him, mapping out her escape routes. Then she jumped over the back of the couch and got several steps closer to the mudroom in her stocking feet before she was tackled from behind. They stumbled together, but Fitz clamped his arms around Lizzy's shoulders and managed to get her left arm pinned to her side.

"Sorry, Lizzy," he explained as she struggled to free herself. "I'm not going to let you turn yourself into a Lizzysicle. I like you too much."

Lizzy heard Jane gasp and Charlie murmur to her comfortingly, but it wasn't enough to keep Lizzy from thrashing her head around and groping at Fitz's hold, searching for weak spots.

"Fitz—" Lizzy started.

"Mags, if you could be so kind as to call those professionals," Fitz said, scowling as Lizzy pushed against his shoulder hard with her free right hand. Maggie already had the phone; she was reaching into the playpen toward the crying baby and dialing one-handed. "And Jane, go get Lizzy's skis please. Just in case."

Lizzy snorted, watching her sister disappear into the mudroom and return with the rented yellow skis, the poles too. She didn't _need_ her skis. Jane's feet were only a little narrower than hers, and Gianas only a little longer. She didn't need _her_ skis to search for Will.

She glanced up at Fitz. He looked back, smiling tightly, red eyebrows raised, hair rising in a stubborn, red crest.

"What's it going to take for you to let me go?" Lizzy asked him.

Fitz let out a hard, quick sigh. "Short of physically hurting me, nothing."

Maggie turned, Zarine in her lap, mouth open and scowling. _"Fitz_."

"Lizzy, no—" Jane started, taking a step forward.

Fitz looked back to Lizzy, beginning to realize his mistake, but Lizzy's face was impassive when she elbowed him, hard in the stomach, hard enough to wind him. Fitz's grip loosened just enough to give Lizzy room to cock a fist back and slam it into Fitz's face. Then she turned away quickly, darting at the mudroom door.

13.

Will didn't realize how cold he was until he got inside. His hands were white and pink-knuckled when he got his gloves off, and his skin prickled in the warmth of the mudroom. His nose started to run when he sat on the bench and bent to fumble with the buckles of his ski boots. Then he stood up in his stocking feet, wincing as his toes came back to life, burning with a vengeance.

He was struggling with the zipper of his jacket, where the top had frozen over during the storm, when he heard someone—a woman, Jane probably—cry out, "_No_, Lizzy—"

Then, there was a scuffle, the sound of pounding feet, and a hard, bruising thump. And Lizzy's voice snapping, "What the _fuck_, Fitz? Do you want me to do it again?"

Will walked on uncomfortably prickling feet to the door and opened it to discover Lizzy on her elbows on the floor, scowling at Fitz, who'd managed to trip her—it seemed—by tackling her legs. Most everyone else looked to be watching them. In horror.

"Will!" Giana cried, from the other side of the room, between Jimmy and the piano.

"Yes?" Will replied, surprised to see the others turn to him so quickly.

Fitz groaned, letting go of Lizzy's legs. "Thank _God_."

"What's going on?" Will asked. "Did I miss something? Lizzy, do you challenge Fitz to a wrestling match again?"

Lizzy was picking herself up slowly, _carefully_, from the floor and looking down, brushing at something on her sweater that Will couldn't see.

"Never mind," sighed Maggie. She was speaking into the phone, eyes closed, Zarine fussing in her lap. "Yeah… Uh-huh, he's here."

"Where have you _been_?" Charlie asked, and it was almost an accusation.

"I missed the turn-off on the trail," Will explained defensively. "I didn't see it in the storm, and I was halfway down the mountain before I realized. I had to hike up after that."

Maggie said good-bye, sighed again heavily, and hung up the phone. Jimmy was watching Giana with concern; her face was buried in her hands.

"Fucking snow blindness," Fitz grumbled, sitting up and dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Are you all right, Fitz?" Will asked, nodding at him uncertainly. "You're bleeding. At your lip."

Fitz snorted, looking at the bright smear across the back of his hand. "Is _that_ what this red shit is?"

"Fitz," Maggie scolded quietly, running a hand over Zarine's hair as the baby leaned into her mother's chest, quiet now and worn out, her hand reaching for her mother's earring. "_Don't_. He couldn't know."

"Know what?" Will wanted to know. No one answered him, but Lizzy crossed the room, her head lowered, her hair hiding her face. Even when she stopped in front of him, Will still couldn't see her face.

"Know _what_?" Will asked again, bewildered.

Lizzy reached up, flicked a couple pieces of melting ice from his jacket with her thumbnail, and tugged on the zipper. "You'll need to take a shower." Her voice was low and thick, almost raspy, as if she would soon lose it. She wouldn't look him in the face. "Or you'll get sick."

"Lizzy…" Will said, catching her hand with his. It was so warm he felt his hand thaw around it. "Lizzy, what—"

She looked up, and when she looked up, she wasn't crying, not yet, but her eyes were overbright—there was moisture collecting in the corners. When she blinked, they spilled over, dropping over her cheeks. Lizzy looked away again, catching the tears in the palm of her right hand, rubbing them quickly out of sight. "It was so late, and the storm…" she said and paused. Will leaned forward, wondering, worrying. "I thought—" she added, but her breath hitched around the sentence and she had to press a hand over her mouth to keep the sob in.

It occurred to Will then exactly _what_ she thought.

"But Lizzy—" he started, and she glanced up only briefly. A little spurt of a sob escaped from under her hand, and Lizzy slapped her other hand over the first. Will hugged her tentatively at first, but then she dropped her head to her shoulder and biting her lips tight to seal in any noise; then she took her hands from her mouth to cling to him desperately. That was probably what worried Will the most, the clinging. Lizzy didn't—under any circumstances that Will was able to remember—allow herself to cling, but she had her arms around his waist, tight enough to hurt almost. Her hands were fisted in the material of her jacket, and she was so warm. Her forehead was flushed and hot where it touched his neck.

Will wanted her to speak to him. He didn't know what to say to get her to speak to him.

"Lizzy, I'm all right," he tried. He felt her breath against his chest, but she didn't reply.

"I'm rather cold, but I'm all right," he assured her, wondering if she would smile. She held him too tightly for him to get any sort of gauge on her expression.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Lizzy," he added, and her only response was to shake her head and press tighter into him. His feet were tingling still, and he wanted very much to sit down somewhere, but Will wasn't sure how to take Lizzy with him. He noticed that she was trembling, very slightly.

Will groped for something to say, for something to lighten the mood. He let out a short burp of laughter, smoothing the hair on top of her head. "Well, marry me, Lizzy. If you marry me, you'll be the first one they would call."

Lizzy stiffened—that was the first warning sign. Jane made a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan—there was the second. Then, Lizzy shoved Will, hard, against his shoulder. It stung more than it should.

"Ouch. _Lizzy_—" Will started, but she had her hands together, the fingers of her left hand grasping the ring on her right, and for a minute, Will wondered if this was going to be it, if she was going to agree to it now-- Then he noticed her face: tight and hard, the jaw clenched tight, eyes closed and pained and scowling.

Her hands dropped to her sides; they curled into fists. Lizzy opened her eyes and looked at him as she hadn't looked at him in a long while, her gaze hard and unflinching and devoid of humor, devoid of sympathy. She seemed too angry now to speak.

She didn't speak. She turned, walked away, walked into their bedroom, and slammed the door, hard enough for Will to feel the door shake underneath him.

Will found himself blinking at the wrong side of a locked door. He glanced back and around the room, took in the bewildered faces behind him, and turned back to the bedroom door, rather smugly: If the others were confused, then it had to be Lizzy that was being ridiculous.

"Come now, Lizzy—" Will began.

He heard a scarp against the doorknob; he flinched thinking that Lizzy had locked the door, locked him _out_, but instead, the door opened. Will looked up, opened his mouth to speak to her, but Lizzy strode past him, chin-lowered and eyes narrowed. Will watched her cross the room, side-stepping a chair and a couch and a coffee table, spreading her arms and folding his sister into them.

She was crying: Giana, not Lizzy.

Will took a step toward her and stopped when he realized that he'd moved, asking uncertainly "Giana, what's the matter?"

Giana didn't answer. She instead made a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a sob and then dropped her head, pressing her face into Lizzy's shoulder.

"It's okay," Lizzy was murmuring, stroking Giana's hair. "_He's_ okay."

Giana mumbled something back, but Will wasn't able to catch it.

"I know; it's all right," Lizzy replied, pulling her closer, and Giana let out a muffled, high-pitched sound, very nearly a squeal.

Will gulped and looked to Jimmy, who was hanging awkwardly back, and Will wondered why the boy wasn't working to help the situation.

"Are you okay?" Lizzy asked worriedly when Giana drew away, head bowed, long brown hair hanging in front of her face. Giana nodded, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. "If you need me, you _knock_. I mean it."

Will realized that Lizzy was planning to return to the bedroom.

"Okay," Giana murmured, nodding again as Lizzy tucked her hair behind her ear. Lizzy almost smiled, kissed Giana's forehead, and took three great strides to hug her twin tight.

"Are _you_ okay?" Jane asked Lizzy worriedly.

To Will, this did seem rather obvious. If Lizzy _was_ 'okay,' she wouldn't feel the need to lock herself into their bedroom. Alone.

Lizzy only shrugged. "Kinda pissed."

Will wondered for a moment if Lizzy had gotten into the eggnog again, which would certainly explain the abrupt mood swings, but then Jane shot him a slight frown, her lips pressed disapprovingly tight, and Will understood that _he_ was the problem. Again.

"What have I done now?" Will asked exasperatedly as Lizzy turned toward him and the bedroom behind him. He placed himself directly in her path, but she merely side-stepped him. She didn't even glance his way.

"Lizzy—" he started again.

But the door had already slammed, and Lizzy was behind it.

"I'm taking Zarine to the cottage," Maggie told her husband, standing up and cradling the child against her, one hand cupped around the back of the baby's head. "Before this gets any worse."

Fitz nodded, a glimmer of a smirk around his eyes, but his jaw was locked tight.

For the second time that evening, Will found himself speaking through a locked, bedroom door. Of course, Lizzy had been angry with him often enough for Will to become an expert at coaxing her back toward a good mood. "Lizzy," he said, leaning against the couch and crossing his arms, "surely this isn't the best way to handle this. If you're upset with me, you might try explaining things first."

"I can tell you," Fitz said lazily, stretching his jaw out wide, testing it and wincing. "Lizzy's upset. It's your fault."

"Fitz," Charlie warned, watching Will. Maggie had returned already to the cottage with the baby; Will hadn't noticed the front door open or close.

There was no response from the room beyond the door, so Will tried again: "The silent treatment will only last for so long. Later this evening, I'll have to go to sleep, and it's very difficult to ignore someone who's sharing a bed with you."

Fitz snorted. "Wait and see if you think that _after _you've been married for a while."

"_Fitz_," Charlie said again, but Will wasn't paying either of them any mind.

"Come out, Lizzy; we—" Will began, but he stopped when he saw the door open, quickly, with a squeak that was high and warbling like a birdcall. "Well then, was that—" Will said, but then he saw her face: she was looking at him, but he wished now that she wasn't. Her eyes were no longer narrowed. She faced him with an unflinching stare, her brows _slightly_ angled, _barely_ furrowed. There was also something else to it, something familiar but unsettling, but Will didn't recognize it, not yet.

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said with a sigh like a snort, furious still and nearly exasperated. "I don't think I've made myself clear."

It seemed that Lizzy was angrier than Will had previously assumed.

She marched past him, her hair still wild in the back, made that way probably by her afternoon nap. Charlie moved aside quickly, and even Fitz got out of her way as she stormed into the kitchen. She then reached over the stovetop on her tiptoes to set the oven timer.

"You have exactly two minutes to get in there and grab whatever you need for the night," she said. When she turned back, her hands were on her hips, her mouth was tight, and her eyes were hard. She _was _angry, but it was a resigned kind of fury. "At the end of those two minutes, when this timer beeps, you will come out of that bedroom, and I will go and lock myself in. I won't be coming back out until morning. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Darcy?"

It seemed that she was _much_ angrier than he'd supposed.

"Do you mean to tell me that I'll be on the sofa tonight?" Will asked scowling.

"I mean to tell you that we'll be spending the night in separate locations," Lizzy replied. "Now, I recommend you take your toothbrush, your toothpaste, your pajamas, your shampoo if you still want to take a shower—"

"The bloody _sofa_? On _Christmas_?" Will sputtered. Lizzy didn't move, except to raise her eyebrows. She didn't even flinch. Will forced himself to calm down; he wouldn't get anywhere with Lizzy if he shouted. "Lizzy, I won't lie to you. I'm rather tired and still a bit cold; I don't—"

"You're wasting your time," Lizzy interrupted. "This is non-negotiable."

"But Lizzy—" Will said, but she was glancing behind her.

"One minute, fifty seconds," Lizzy read off the green-lit oven display. "Would you like me to count out loud for you?"

Will dragged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch and holding tightly onto his temper. "Lizzy, you can't—"

"All votes that Will goes and gets his shit, say _aye_,'" Fitz said, leaning against the bar.

Will turned to scowl at Fitz and promptly heard two _ayes_ from Giana and Jimmy's corner of the room. _Then_, when Will opened his mouth to ask if the whole room had turned against him, Charlie commented, "Will, I doubt you'll be able to change her mind."

Will turned from Charlie to Lizzy. Her arms were folded across her chest; her chin was raised defiantly. "One minute, forty-three seconds," she said.

So Will went to their room and began snatching things up. He wasn't quite sure _what_ he was taking; he was too angry, furious really, that she'd choose this _exact_ time to decide she'd not be around him—when he was cold and tired from the cold, when all he really wanted was to take the shower she'd mentioned, a hot one preferably, and drop into his warm bed, when it was _Christmas_. But no, she had to go and find fault in everything he did, and blame _him_ for a snowstorm that he'd had the bad luck to get caught in—

"One minute, fifteen seconds," Lizzy called.

Will paused and turned toward the door to tell her _exactly_ what she could do with her bloody minute, and noticed with a start that Lizzy was reaching towards Fitz's face, wearing an expression of gentle concern.

Wondering why the hell _he_ didn't deserve such an expression and how Fitz managed, Will took three angry strides into the living room. She was pressing some_thing_ to Fitz's face, something wrapped in a towel and oddly shaped and wet and—

"It's _cold_," Fitz complained, flinching away from it.

"I'm sorry," Lizzy quietly replied.

Will wondered what the hell Fitz had done to deserve an _apology_.

Fitz shrugged, taking the towel-wrapped something from her hand, talking awkward around it as he pressed it to his lip. "It's not your fault. It's _ice_, right? It's supposed to be cold."

Ice—of course, it was ice. It didn't, of course, explain why Fitz would _need_ ice pressed to the bottom half of his face.

"No," Lizzy said and added pointedly, "_I'm sorry._"

_Two_ apologies. Somehow, Fitz had deserved two apologies.

Fitz seemed to understand this, but he merely shrugged.

"And tell Maggie I'm sorry," Lizzy added. "And Zarine."

Will paused just long enough to wonder what exactly Lizzy had done—to seek forgiveness from the entire Fitzwilliam family. Perhaps Fitz had said something Fitz-like, and Lizzy had thrown a bottle of baby food at his head. He was always saying something.

"Got it. Sorry's all around," Fitz replied with a short nod. When the concern on Lizzy's face didn't relax at all, Fitz smirked lazily against the dishtowel. "By the way, you hit like a _boy_."

Lizzy smiled, or made a very good try. "Thank you."

"Who did Lizzy hit?" Will asked sharply.

Giana made a sound like a tsk, and Fitz scowled—glared actually—at his cousin. "You know, I'm not gonna tell you. All I'm gonna say is it's your fault."

"How is it _my_ fault?" Will snapped. "Is _everything_ my fault?"

"You said it—not me," Fitz said, raising his eyebrows and shrugging.

"I did _not_ say—" Will began. Lizzy was striding purposefully again, across the room, carrying something in hand: a bowl, filled with something brothy: white and orange-studded soup—her dinner, Will realized. And she was headed toward him—no, not to him, to the bedroom.

Will caught her arm so quickly that soup sloshed out of the bowl to smack the floor and Lizzy's breath hissed between her teeth. Even Giana murmured something in a fitful voice. "I still have thirty seconds left," he reminded her.

"Yeah, but you don't have any pillows," Lizzy pointed out evenly, prying his fingers from her arm and walking on.

Will watched her as she went inside the room, settled the soup bowl on a nightstand, and pulled bedding form the bed—two pillows and the warmest blanket, a down comforter. She hitched it up in one arm and dumped it on the couch before heading off toward the piano for a second time. Will assumed that she was only going to embrace Giana, _again_, but instead she came to a sizable wooden box resting on the piano and closed its carved lid.

"You opened my gift," Will realized.

"I did," Lizzy replied, picking it up.

Will couldn't keep himself from asking, "Did you like it?"

"I love it; it's a great gift," Lizzy replied, walking across the room. There was no smirk hiding around her mouth, and she was looking at him hard, directly in the eyes. Will didn't think she was being sarcastic. "Thank you."

Despite her anger, despite everything, Will couldn't keep himself from smiling. He couldn't stop, even when Lizzy failed to smile back. "You _do_ like it? Really?"

"I just told you I do," she reminded him. She was walking now—Giana reached for her, but Lizzy didn't notice, or she didn't pay the girl any mind. She was halfway across the living room, side-stepping chairs, before Will recognized where she was going and made one final attempt to stop her, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Is it really going to be like this, Lizzy? On Christmas?" Will asked, keeping his voice low, very conscious of the others' presence. "Will you really punish me for getting lost in a snowstorm?"

Lizzy winced, just slightly. "It's not _punishment_."

"Lizzy, you can't expect me to believe—" Will said impatiently.

"Believe what I tell you: you hurt me, Will," Lizzy said quietly, and Will felt suddenly as if _he_ was the one she had struck. "And I can't be around you right now." Giana made another noise, strangled and almost a gasp, but Will couldn't look away from away from Lizzy, who was watching him like he was barely there in front of her. She dropped her voice so the others couldn't hear and added, "If _you_ would like to be the one in solitary confinement for the evening, be my guest. But I'm going to be crying in the next five minutes--" Will felt the invisible punch once more, hard in the stomach. "—and I would rather not let Giana see it. She's had enough excitement for one day."

Lizzy was staring him down with same unflinching stare, the same resigned kind of anger. He knew he should recognize the look she gave him; he _knew_ he had seen it before. She seemed untouchable; Will understood that was important.

She moved past him.

"Wait, Lizzy. You have to tell me what I've done," Will said desperately, catching her arm again, the one not carrying the wooden box. "You can't leave me without telling me what I've done."

Lizzy stared at Will's hand until he removed it. It hung in front of him awkwardly, mid-air. Then she was still staring but not at him, only at some place on the floor. The two-minute timer beeped between them. "You didn't want me to feel better," she said softly.

"_What_?" Will replied with a short laugh. "Lizzy, that's ridiculous."

Lizzy was already moving on.

"Of _course_ I wanted you to feel better," Will told her, reaching for her arm again, almost accidentally.

Lizzy caught his grasping hand and threw it back before he managed to touch her. "I've already hit somebody today," she told him. She was glaring now, which would've relieved Will—as a symptom of her usual self, but there were tears sitting at the bottom of her eyes. It wasn't lost on Will that she stepped behind him, blocking her face from the others' view. "It's not going to take much to push me back into violence." Her voice didn't shake, not at all.

Her eyelids were lowered; she was staring at the floor.

She was in the doorway. Her hand was on the doorknob; she was closing it.

"Lizzy, _please_," Will said softly.

She looked at him with that resigned stare, her eyes unhappy but absolutely fierce.

"Goodnight, Will," Lizzy replied, and it sounded like Goodbye. She closed the door.

Will recognized finally the look she'd used to stare him down. That was the way she had looked at her mother that day at Netherfield, after Collins had gone. That was the way Lizzy looked at people she loved in spite of herself, in spite of her better judgment, a waiting sort of stare, almost as if she were bracing herself for betrayal.

He grabbed at the doorknob, hoping he could force his way in before she locked it, but she was faster than he was. Then he was facing the same locked door. For the third and final time.

"Lizzy, you can't block me out. _Lizzy—"_ Will began, jiggling the doorknob. It was panic speaking. She probably knew that, but he didn't care.

He _knew_ it was ridiculous to be afraid. Lizzy was only in a locked room. She obviously wasn't going anywhere, but if _anyone_ could sneak out of a room unnoticed in the middle of a snowstorm and disappear from the rest of his life, it was Lizzy. He banged on the door; it shook under his fist. "You can't block me out, only because you were afraid. It isn't my _fault_ that you were worried. You did that of your own accord. Damn it, Lizzy—don't shut me out; open this door. Open—"

He would've opened the door, too; he would've forced it opened, broken the door in half if he had to—damn the bloody damage fees anyway, but someone, someone with a long dark ponytail, rushed at his side and sent him stumbling three paces to his right.

"You leave her _alone_," Giana snapped, standing now in front of the door as if she were guarding it. "She deserves a little quiet after this. You owe her that at least."

"Not _now_, Giana," Will replied, scowling and returning to the door. "I can only handle one woman going ballastic on me at a time."

Fitz snorted again, across the room, and when Will looked, his cousin was uncrossing his arms and shaking his head. "Well, Will—you're officially a bastard."

"What? What have I done?" Will asked exasperated.

"I'm headed to the cottage before this evening starts to suck anymore," Fitz announced. The ice clunked muffledly through the dishtowel as he dropped it on the marble counter. "Everybody else," he said, looking at Charlie, Jimmy, and Giana in turn, "I recommend finding your own amusements in various corners of the house, so Will can sit on the couch and think about what he's done."

"_What_ have I done?" Will wanted to know. "Why won't anyone tell me what I've done?"

"Later, kids," said Fitz, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his ski pants and strolling for the front door.

Will resumed his assault on the door to the bedroom. "Lizzy, I'm serious. Open—"

Giana shoved him again, harder and at an angle so that he knocked into the wall. "You great bastard, we thought we _were_ going to get a bloody call!" she shouted. Her eyes were streaming tears but as fierce as Lizzy's.

"What are you talking about?" Will asked, pushing himself away from the wall. "What call?"

"The call that you were _dead_," Giana told him with a stubborn, gulping scowl. "That you'd fallen into an avalanche or a glacier and _froze_ to death—"

"Well, there wasn't any _need_," Will replied, rubbing his shoulder absently. "I wasn't in any danger, except perhaps of losing a few toes. I don't see what all the bloody fuss—"

"_You_ wanted to know what you did wrong," Giana reminded him haughtily, wiping her eyes, "and I'm telling you."

"All you've told me is that you were rather worried about me," Will said with an exasperated sigh.

"_Rather_ worried?" Giana repeated slowly. She was glaring at him now, and Will braced himself for an outburst of the sort he'd heard the day before: If she thought that he would only sit and listen quietly as he had on Christmas Eve, she would unpleasantly surprised. "Do you have any idea what we've_ been_ through here tonight? _Any_ idea at all?"

"_Obviously_ not," Will snapped. "I've just gotten here. I've only been here long enough to get kicked out of my room, and—"

"We thought you were going to _die_, Will," Giana said, mouth strained, but her eyes were still fierce.

"I _wasn't_—" Will insisted.

"No, you shut up, you great bastard," Giana snapped, taking a step forward, and for an instant, Will worried that his sister would strike him. Her eyes glinted, perhaps still close to tears, and bits of her long hair stuck to her face. She lowered her chin sharply, scowling, and the reddish tearstains on her cheeks began to look like war-paint. "Let me _tell_ you how it was. It was Lizzy who was worried first. Then it was both of us at that window—" She pointed toward the piano, but Will was too busy to glaring stubbornly back to turn away. "—looking out and waiting for you to come back. Do you _know_ what it's _like_ to wait when you've worried, Will? Look at my nails," she told him, shoving her hand under his nose. She moved them too much for him to get any sort of impression of them, except blurring pale fingers. Helpfully, she added, "Bitten to the _quick_. I haven't bitten my nails in _years_, not since Auntie Cindy came back to Pemberley. And Lizzy—" Giana drew away from Will, jerking her long hair over her shoulder and beginning to take long pacing strides back and forth across the living room. "Lizzy was going after you, did you know that? Did you notice that she'd already dressed herself against the weather? Fitz managed to stop her, _barely_. She fought with all she's got to leave. Who d'you _think_ Lizzy hit? Who do you _think_ busted Fitz's lip?"

Fitz was still there, shaking his head at Will, looking smug and vicious and much to self-righteous than he'd _ever_ had a right to be. His lip _was_ rather swollen.

"It would've been all right," Will protested. He made the mistake of glancing out the window looming over the piano, at the storm beyond the warmth of the cabin, at the flakes blown in all corners, at the landscape bleached white as far as the eye can see. A shiver sauntered up from the base of his spine, chilled him enough to draw goosebumps on his arms under the sleeves of his jacket, but he knew that it was ridiculous. Everyone was _fine_ now. There was no need to feel bothered _after_ the fact. "I would have met Lizzy on the trail," he said, forcing himself to believe it. "The worst that could've happened was that she would be forced to climb up the mountain with—"

"The worst that could've happened is that she could've _frozen_ to death," Fitz corrected sharply.

Will threw his cousin a sharp, warning scowl. "I thought you were going to the cottage."

Fitz shrugged but crossed his arms, so smug that Will might have hit Fitz himself if they were only five years younger. "Yeah, well, your sister telling you off is kinda more entertaining."

"Come _on_, Fitz," Charlie said in a quiet voice, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"_What_?" Fitz said irritably. "Even _you_ have to admit that Will's being a real asshole."

"Yeah, but you don't need to make it worse," Charlie pointed out.

"I am _not_ being an asshole," Will snapped.

"Could've fooled me," replied Giana.

Will sighed irritably, pushing his hair back from his face. "Giana, I _understand _you're angry, but you really can't speak to me that way," he said in as stern a voice as he could muster. "I'm your brother—"

"Can't speak to you that way?" Giana repeated, raising her chin, her hands traveling slowly to her hips.

"Yes, that's what I said," Will said, fighting to keep the scowl from his face.

"Did I hurt your feelings?" Giana asked sharply.

"I…" Will started and stopped, watching her uncertainly.

"I'd like to know," Giana told him. Her hands were still on her hips, and her chin was still raised in challenge. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

Will didn't answer. He didn't know what to say.

Giana looked away, grimacing. There was an angry flush to her cheeks, under the tearstains. "Do you know, Will, all my life I've let you treat me exactly as you wanted?" she said, more softly than Will had expected. He had expected her to yell again. "Mostly because I was grateful that someone was paying me any attention at all. There have been plenty of times, Will, so _many _times that you've said something and hurt me, and I—"

"So, _that's_ what this is about?" Will snapped impatiently. "Revenge?"

Giana's gaze snapped up, hard and furious, her mouths open and defiant. "_No_. Of course not. _God_, Will_. I could _never say _anything_ when it was me, but Lizzy's _right_. It's _so_ much easier when it's not you you're fighting for."

"What are you talking about?" Will asked bewildered.

Giana slammed her hand down on whatever was nearest, the arm of a leather couch, so hard that Will imagined Maggie complaining about damage fees again. "_Listen_ to me, and I'll tell you." Her teeth were bared. "You came in. You may not _believe_ this right now, but I was _rather_ happy to see you. And Lizzy was overwhelmed, so much so that she didn't know what to do with herself. And she went to you for comfort, and how did you react?"

"I comforted her, of course," Will said, not much appreciating such an interrogation.

"_No_. No, you didn't," Giana said through clenched teeth. "She's right—you didn't want to her to feel better. You just wanted her to stop crying so you wouldn't have to bother any longer. So you could go about your business and warm yourself up with hot cocoa or whatever."

"That's not—" Will started to protest, but it _was_ true. Or true enough.

"And _then_ you made a joke out of it all. Acted as if she had no right to be scared. Acting as if she was only over-reacting—" Giana continued harshly.

"She _did_ overreact," Will insisted. "You all did. I wasn't in any danger—"

Giana let loose a brief, frustrated scream and stamped her socked foot hard on the ground. Will remembered with a touch of amusement that she threw her childhood tantrums in a very similar way. "_This_ is what I can't _stand_ about you, will," she snapped. "This is what _no one_ can stand about you. The fact of the matter is that Lizzy _trusted _you not to hurt her and you did."

"I didn't mean to hurt her. She does know that--" Will pointed out helplessly.

"Yes, well, you didn't mean to burn her hand," Giana replied, hands returning to her hips, "but that didn't stop the welts from coming, did it?"

"I didn't do anything of the kind," Will replied, worrying now that he might've.

"Did you not see it, then?" Giana asked, hitcher her chin higher. "You grabbed her arm and the soup spilled out. It was hot, it's been on the burner for an hour or more; it turned the back of her hand red."

Will hadn't noticed. He hadn't even looked. He hadn't known that he _needed_ to look.

"Whether or not you meant to hurt her doesn't matter. You hurt her," Giana snapped. She was yelling now and pacing, taking long furious strides along the wall, and Will swallowed numbly and couldn't bring himself to stop her. He braced himself again, more carefully this time, and prepared to wait it out. "You were _wrong_, and you can't bloody well _admit_ it. You've never been able to. You say stupid things sometimes, _terrible_ things, and you hurt people terribly. All the bloody time. And what's worse is that you never seem to care much, not enough. No wonder no one seems to want to stay with you. Maggie ran off with the baby the first chance she got, and Jane went upstairs as soon as Lizzy removed herself. Charlie's been eyeing the stairs since then; Fitz already established his desire to leave. Jimmy's only still here to hold my hand if I need it. And Lizzy—" Giana paused just long enough to suck in a deep, angry breath. "The stupidest thing is all you had to do to help her was to hold her until she settled down. That's all she wanted really. but _now_—of _course_ she's going to want to hide herself away. Of _course_ she's going to refuse to marry you, if you treat her the way you do—hurt her and pretend you're not sorry. You—"

"That's enough, Giana," Charlie said quietly, grimacing again as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Giana stopped pacing, her hair flying out behind her as she turned toward him. "But—"

"Nope, I'm with Charlie," Fitz said sternly. "You're done here today."

"_Fine_," snapped Giana, and she took four long strides to her room, walking in and slamming the door.

Will couldn't make himself move.

It was Jimmy who went to the door, the one most recently slammed. Will supposed that the boy would've knocked or asked Giana if she was all right, but the door opened again. Giana strode out, anger making her pace jagged, fury still molded to every line in her tearstained face. "I changed my mind," Giana said scowling, dropping in an armchair, legs crossed, arms folded. "I'm going to sit here and glare at you as you think about what you've done. Go on, then. Think."

Will's breath was coming now in short, shallow gasps, quiet enough, but he heard them loudly in his ears. He moved leadenly to the other side of the sofa and sat down, his elbows on his knees. His legs were trembling slightly, and if he chose, he could tell himself that it was only a symptom of the strain of climbing a storm-ravaged mountain. He was only dimly aware the others were moving around him, murmuring to one another.

He turned to the bundle of bedding that Lizzy had left him. He noticed her black pajama bottoms caught in the middle, studded with bright pink dots. He tugged them out gently and folded them carefully. This was usually the point when Lizzy would find him, place a hand on his back, and murmur something sweet and funny and encouraging, but he had no right to ask that of her now.

The blueprints of Pemberley were before him, spread out wide on the coffeetable just in front of him. He turned a page idly, realized belatedly that he was looking at the plans of the ballroom. With his head bent so low, he also noticed that it was spotted with tiny, pale blue Post-its; he hadn't seen them earlier, not without his glasses. He lifted one from the blueprint, pulled it very close to his face, and read in Lizzy's slanting, looping script: _You were right! This one's Orpheus._ There was an arrow next to that, pointing at nothing now. Then, in parenthesis: _Eurydice is carved just one panel over._

Will dropped the Post-it back to the paper, smoothed it down exactly where he found it, one fist was pressed hard against his mouth. Then his hands traveled upwards to cover his eyes. Then he bent almost in half, his chin dropped to his knees, and he brought his hands to rest loosely on the back of his head, buried there as if hiding in his hair.

Giana apologized just before they sat down to dinner. Will shrugged a little and tried to smile, but when he couldn't bring himself to say anything, Giana held him firmly by his shoulders, frowning worried. "You're still my brother," she explained. "I'll always love you, you know. You're all I've got."

That didn't really make Will feel any better. He wasn't sure it was supposed to.

At the table, he found he couldn't eat much. It wasn't that it tasted bad. It was good, quite good actually, but he knew Lizzy had prepared it, that she was eating alone, and that it was his fault. After half a dozen spoons, he mumbled his excuses and rose from the table, taking his dishes absent-mindedly with him and settling them in the bottom of the sink.

She was still awake, Will was almost sure: there was a line of light escaping from the slit under the door.

He still didn't know what to say. Even when he knocked, he wasn't exactly sure that he was just trying to see whether or not she would answer him.

"Lizzy?" he asked. He braced himself with one hand on each side of the doorframe, straining to hear what she would tell him.

She might not, of course. She didn't _have _to talk to him.

"Lizzy?" he said again, only slightly louder. He waited for a while, preparing himself to walk away.

Then he heard, "I still don't want to see you, Will. You've only given me an hour. A little _over_ an hour, but still."

Time moved too slowly. It didn't help at all that it seemed as if Lizzy had suddenly developed a horrible cold. Will found himself resting his forehead on the door without remembering having bent his head. "No, of course, I—" He dragged a breath deep into his lungs and then let it out again. "I'm sorry. I wanted you to know that…I _am_ sorry. I—" And then he didn't really know what to say, not through a door. If she was there before him, if he could see her face…

"Thank you," Lizzy said in a strained voice that Will could only wince at.

He waited a moment longer, waited to discover if Lizzy would say anything else. When she didn't, he turned away and caught Giana watched him with a worried, wide-eyed frown.

Will woke up in the middle of the night with a hand against his face. He knew before he opened his eyes that it was Lizzy cupping his cheek. When his eyes _did_ open, when he _did_ begin to pull himself into a sitting position, she gave a small gasp and jumped slightly back. She was not wearing any pants. Her legs shone white in the dull moonlight streaming in through the last flurry remains of the storm.

"Lizzy?" he heard himself asking, blinking several times.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. There were silver glints on her cheeks that might have been tears. "I didn't mean to wake you up." Her eyes were very wide and over-bright. "I had this dream; I was just checking—" She hooked her hair behind her ears distractedly, looking away, looking sideways at nothing. "You know, to see if you were all right. I'm sorry," she said again, backing away. "I'll go. I didn't mean to wake you up—"

Will reached out from under the comforter and grasped her hand. Lizzy turned back, head bowed, a thumb wiping something from under her eye. He knew they couldn't talk yet, not now, it was too late now, but he hitched himself up a little and twisted. He tugged the cushions from their places against the back of the couch and tossed them over the side. Then he scooted himself backwards in the extra room that afforded and lifted the blanket in silent, hopeful invitation.

Lizzy climbed in wordlessly. Her body was flushed, her feet cold, and Will worried that she was running fever. When she seemed comfortable, he tucked the blanket around the both of them and settled an arm around her waist. Her back was to him, but he knew she was still crying: her breaths were coming shaky and slow, and every so often, he heard her licking the tears from her lips. He pulled her gently closer and kissed her hair tenderly, just next to the spot where he knew she'd knocked her head. The gesture seemed to have the opposite effect he'd intended, because she released a small, strangled hiccup of a sob.

But she moved the hand that she'd curled around the edge of a pillow, moved it until she was clasping his tightly. The grip of her fingers was warm and fierce.

_Author's Note: I know I promised a cliffhanger, but…I decided against it. Originally, I was going to stop this update after section 12—you know, like the twelve days of Christmas, but I came to the conclusion that was just mean. Maybe in the final draft, there will be twelve, but that's okay. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this. I'm sorry this update took so long. I was working at a summer job, and then I had to move back to college and settle in and everything. BUT the good news is that there's just one more chapter go! And it's mostly written! I'm going to finish it up as soon as possible and post it. Thanks for reading!_

212


	19. Day Five: A Wedding

Epilogue

Part 5 of 5

Day Five—The Wedding

_Author's Note: It's not Will and Lizzy's wedding, by the way. And I'd like to point out that Shay Bo Bay called it. Twice._

14.

A door slammed across the room, and Lizzy stumbled into consciousness, muddle-headed and confused. There was a hand cupping her behind, but that was okay. It was Will's. Her head was aching—she remembered blearily that she'd recently banged it against a tree—but it was resting half on Will's chest and half on the pillow they shared. In her sleep, she'd also thrown an arm possessively across his waist. He smelled very close and very comforting, like clean sweat and home.

She didn't want to open her eyes yet. This was the first time in weeks that she hadn't woken up in the middle of a nightmare. Besides, Will was still asleep: his breathing was still slow and even; she couldn't disturb him yet.

"Oh, good—you two made up," said someone in the corner of the room: Jane. Lizzy noticed the clipped strain in her twin's tone, but she didn't recognize she was being addressed until somebody else asked, "Zippy, you been fighting again? Aren't you supposed to grow out of that?"

"_Dad?_" Lizzy yelped, leaping into a sitting position. Will moaned a complaint beside her and tried to pull her back beside him, but Lizzy wouldn't let him. Ben Bennet was just by the door, wearing a grin that made Lizzy want count teeth and an _ancient_ burnt orange ski-suit that clashed horribly with his red beard. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I was _invited_," said Ben, pulling off a dark green cap that had been topping off the outfit.

Lizzy wasn't sure if she believed this. "_When_?"

"Well, I'm happy to see you, too," Ben told his youngest daughter, folding his hat mock-daintily, pretending—at least Lizzy _thought_ he was pretending—to be miffed. "Merry Christmas, while I'm at it."

"Who?" Lizzy wondered, flabbergasted. "_Maggie?_" But Maggie would've said something. She would _know_ to say something—

Her stepmother came through the door, dressed more conservatively in black pants and a blue suede jacket, her graying hair in two long braids down her back. "No, I'm _Molly_, dear," said Professor Brettman-Bennet, lugging a brown leather suitcase over the threshold. Next to Lizzy, Will sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Hello, Will," said Molly pleasantly. Will turned toward the voice, blinking blearily.

"Maggie is Fitz's wife," Jane explained to Molly, coming from the kitchen to help with the luggage.

"Oh," said Molly, straightening as Jane took the suitcase from her. Her back creaked so loudly that Lizzy could hear it across the room; Lizzy couldn't help but think that wasn't normal.

"What's going on?" Will asked, an arm around her waist, yawning into his fist.

"I don't know," Lizzy said frowning. With a sigh, she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair without seeming to think about it much.

"_I_ invited them," Jane explained to her sister, and Lizzy noticed her twin's red hair was sticking around her head in strands.

Ben Bennet was grinning again, and that couldn't be a good sign. "I know something you don't know," he said in a sing-song.

It occurred to Lizzy that she might still be dreaming.

"I invited Mom, too," Jane added quickly, pressing her lips tight together.

It occurred to Lizzy that this _was_ the nightmare.

Ben Bennet and Molly Brettman-Bennet were both grimacing now; there was a picture there if Lizzy could figure out where her camera was.

"_Why?_" Lizzy asked horrified. Will was still stroking her hair.

Jane dropped the suitcase just next to Lizzy and Will's couch. "We'll leave this here until it's time to take you to the lodge." She stopped abruptly, looking at her sister, and took a deep breath. "Lizzy, I haven't told you something. I _need_ to tell you."

"Uh-oh," murmured Lizzy. She felt Will turn toward her, peering at her face.

"I'm getting married," Jane said.

"I knew _that_," Lizzy snorted, insulted.

"No, _today_," Jane explained.

Lizzy decided she was definitely dreaming.

She looked at Will, and Will was already looking at her, watching her with very wide, very sleepy dark eyes. Jane had already moved on.

"Dad, I _told_ you already," she said irritably. "You _can't_ wear that. I can't believe you even brought it."

There was something wrong with this situation—something more wrong than her father in an orange ski suit, her stepmother in pigtails, and her sister deciding she wanted to be married immediately. But Will still had his hand on her head; that was nice, comforting even.

"Why not?" Ben Bennet protested. "I won't ruin your pictures. I'm going to be taking them all. Everyone will be looking at you, so they won't remember what _I_ wear."

Will was now motioning toward the edge of the couch. He wanted to get up.

"Trust me. They'll remember _that_—" Molly said nodding at the orange ski suit. "When did you buy that anyway? It had to be before the twins were born."

To get out of Will's way, Lizzy scooted to one side. The comforter slipped off, exposing her legs to the cool draft coming from the half-open door. She realized suddenly what was wrong with the situation: she was short one pair of pants.

"Come on. You can admit it: you're _impressed_ that I can still fit into them, aren't you?" Ben asked Molly with a wide grin.

Lizzy snapped the comforter back over her lap with a small squeak of a gasp. Had she left them somewhere?

"Dad," Jane said sternly, "it's my wedding. _Wedding_."

No, she'd never put them on, Lizzy remembered that. She couldn't find her pajama bottoms the night before, so she climbed into bed with just the top, way too upset to search anymore.

"I let you wear whatever you wanted to _my_ wedding," Ben muttered darkly.

Lizzy caught Will's arm quickly before he managed to stand up. "_Pants_," she said desperately.

Will blinked at her uncertainly and looked down at the flannel plaid pajamas he was wearing.

"_My_ pants," she explained. "They're _missing_."

"_Dad_," Jane warned across the room.

Will transferred his gaze from his legs to the bumps under the comforter, the ones that were her knees. He tilted his head, trying to peer underneath.

"You have to _find_ them," Lizzy insisted, glancing pointedly at the supposedly invited guests.

"_Fine_," sighed Ben Bennet.

Will heaved a quick double sigh and reached over to a nearby armchair that was holding most of his hastily gathered possessions. He tugged a pair of folded black pajama bottoms, studded with pink polka dots, from underneath the pile and dropped them in Lizzy's lap.

"Thanks, Dad," Jane said, kissing her father's cheek. "We've got a tux for you upstairs."

"You _took_ them," Lizzy accused, trying to pull on her pants quickly underneath the comforter without drawing unwanted attention.

Will stretched, smiling lazily. "I gave them back, didn't I?"

"Will, you too," Jane said, and Will froze, wide-eyed and almost worried. "A tux," Jane explained. "Upstairs. For you. You're the best man, by the way. I don't know if Charlie told you…"

"Best _what_?" Will asked, suddenly looking more awake than Lizzy planned on being.

Since everyone's attention seemed to be diverted toward her sister, Lizzy managed to safely pull her pants on. To prove her newly-clothed state, she stood up and away from the comforter, pleased with herself.

"Don't tell me I've got to go through it _again_," Jane said, hands on her hips. "We really don't have time."

Lizzy then realized that while she was wearing both a top and a bottom, she was still in only her pajamas. Pink polka dot studded pajamas.

"It'll be fine," Molly assured Jane. "It's good luck for a wedding to run late anyway."

Lizzy wasn't so sure about how she felt about her stepmother seeing her in her pajamas. Especially when Will, the only other PJ-clad figure in the room, was escaping into a bathroom.

Jane paused, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. "Really?"

"Just look at us," Ben Bennet was saying, slipping an arm around his wife's waist. "Married ten years late."

Thinking someone might like to sit down, she took the comforter off the couch and stumbled over to the bedroom she shared with Will. The last thing she heard before she used her foot to nudge the door shut was Jane saying, "Okay, we _really_ don't have time for that." Then there was the bed, and then the down comforter _on_ the bed, and then it was all looking so _comfortable_. A little later, Lizzy might have been aware of Will saying something about the shower, but she couldn't be sure, snuggled tight and warm between the covers and the mattress, face pressed into a lonely pillow.

"Lizzy, you might want to get up."

That was Will. He had one hand on her back, just between her shoulder blades, and he stroked it gently with his thumb. Lizzy mumbled something—she couldn't muster any actual words, though—and tried to burrow under her pillow.

"You'll be upset with yourself, if you don't."

Lizzy shook her head a little, smelling Will in the sheets and liking it.

"Will it help you any if I find you some coffee?" he asked.

Moving the pillow slightly, just a little away from her face, without opening her eyes, Lizzy made some affirmative noises, and the hand disappeared from her back. Lizzy giggled a little to herself and settled down to enjoy herself five more minutes.

"Here." There was the clatter of ceramic mug on wooden nightstand. "Two spoons of sugar and a bit of cream. Did I remember correctly?"

"Yep," Lizzy murmured, opening one bleary eye to see the white mug Will had placed right next to her head. "Thanks." She stretched lazily, her arms spread wide and then wider, reaching to the edges of the bed and pulling the comforter halfway off her with her toes. She rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton on the pillow and closed both eyes, still not ready to face the day.

Then she opened both eyes—a good warm-up for getting out of bed—and noticed Will, leaning against the chest of drawers, his shoulders drooping, his head bent. He had taken a shower recently; his dark hair was dripping. He was only wearing a towel; she commended her decision to open her eyes, appreciating _especially _the smooth, pale lines of his chest. One of his hands drifted idly over the bowl of soup she'd left on the top of the chest. It was cold now but still mostly full, because she'd forgotten to get herself a spoon. And, she admitted to herself, because her appetite had abandoned her the night before. Spilling it burnt the appetite right out of her. She watched his gaze wander, and she followed it, noticing the carved wooden box he'd given her for Christmas, sitting on the carpet where she'd left it the night before. Some of the quotes she'd left unfolded and scattered around the box; crumpled tissues hid between them.

Lizzy sighed, dropping her head further into the pillows, wishing that she would've had the presence of mind to clean up a little before Will came back into the room. She must've been half-asleep when he came in; she couldn't even remember getting up to unlock the door.

"I'm sorry," he was saying. His voice was strangled and so quiet that he sounded as if he was very far away.

"It's really not that big a deal," Lizzy said with a self-conscious shrug. "It was just that I was already upset—"

"You don't need to make excuses for me," Will said sharply. Lizzy would've scowled at his tone if she hadn't known that he wasn't angry with her, only himself. "I understand what I've done. It was stupid and needless. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. Terribly sorry. Unspeakably sorry."

Lizzy didn't feel it was right to mention this, but she figured that for being unspeakable sorry, Will was pretty talkative. But she had expected this. She'd only heard little bits of what Giana had yelled at Will, but she knew that a talk was on its way. She decided that her coffee didn't have to get cold while she waited it, so she dragged herself into a sitting position and picked it up daintily, keeping her fingers to the handle and the other coolest bits of ceramic. No use burning anything _else_.

"I should've known," Will was saying. "I would've been terrified if I thought something had happened to you. I _know_ how difficult it is to allow yourself to need someone else, and to trust them, and I still acted as if I didn't."

"Didn't what?" Lizzy asked.

Will paused, pushing some of his wet hair from his face, blinking at her. Lizzy wished that he were closer. She would've have brushed it away _for_ him.

"Didn't…" Will repeated confused.

"Didn't know or didn't care?" Lizzy asked, sipping at her coffee to hide a smile.

Will's shoulders drooped a little more. "You're not taking me seriously." His mouth fell slightly open, hurt and vulnerable. Lizzy resisted the temptation to kiss it better.

"Sure I am," Lizzy replied, cupping the mug gingerly, feeling the skin stretch painfully across the back of her burnt right hand. "It's just you're taking the apology part of the making up process way overboard."

"What do you mean?" Will asked, beginning to frown. A _worried_ frown, like he was sure he'd done something wrong again.

"It was enough for me that you were sorry," Lizzy admitted, the mug settled between her hands.

"But—" he started, but he stopped himself, abruptly folding his arms across his bare chest.

He didn't say anymore, but she still knew what he was thinking: that he _had_ been sorry and she had known it and she had _still_ not let him return to the room. What he didn't know is that she considered it, but she knew that it would upset him more to see her in the middle of the floor, her face a mess, scraps of poems and tissues scattered around her. Plus she hadn't been ready to stop being alone, not yet.

She watched him struggle to keep the frown off his face. She didn't know how to explain that part to him. To tell him why she needed room enough to put herself back together, she would have to explain more of why she was really upset, what had really scared her, and explain more about the dreams. About what it was like to dream about losing him night after night and then to find herself in that kind of waking nightmare. But that wasn't a conversation to start before she'd finished her first cup of coffee.

Lizzy braced herself with a large gulp from her mug and tried again. "Will, it's really okay. I _did_ overreact, but it was more me getting scared than anything."

"I hurt you," Will reminded her. His head was still bent, and she couldn't see his face. "You can't tell me everything is all right, if I hurt you."

"Will, couples to hurt each other accidentally," Lizzy pointed out. "It's part of the package. It's normal."

He didn't answer. He didn't even move.

"I know I've hurt you, without meaning to," Lizzy said. She knew that she hurt him every time she didn't agree to marry him, but she didn't want to bring that up, not yet. "You forgive me, right?"

"Of course," Will said. He looked up, and Lizzy could see the crease of a frown sitting between his eyes.

"So, how is it any different?" Lizzy said, sitting back against the cushions.

"When you hurt me, you usually have a very good reason, and you're quick to make up," Will explained in a forced, light tone. He was looking at her hand, and when Lizzy realized, she stuffed it under the covers, out of sight. "When I hurt you, it's usually abject stupidity on my part. And I usually make it worse when I try to make it better."

Lizzy realized that they were coming pretty close to the _Am-I-a-good-person_? talks again. She sighed. "You've never hurt me the same way twice."

Will looked up sharply now, openly scowling again.

"No, _listen_," Lizzy ordered stoutly, putting her mug back on the nightstand and turning back to Will seriously. "You _learn_ from your mistakes. You've changed since we met. For the better."

Will liked that. His head lifted a little higher and looked her in the eye now, but he wasn't comforted yet.

"Also, you seem to be forgetting one extremely important thing: I love you," Lizzy said quietly, "and I love you more every day we spend together."

Will _really _liked that. The corners of his mouth lifted, and he said, "I suppose we _will_ have to spend more time together."

Lizzy wasn't fooled. He wasn't cheered up yet, not really. That wasn't what Will needed to hear. "I won't ever leave you, Will." He looked at her again, startled; the smile was gone from his mouth. "Not without coming back, and never without saying goodbye. I even said goodbye to my mom, the day I ran away from home."

"Only because you wanted her to ask you to stay," Will said quietly, but he was still meeting her eyes.

Lizzy smiled slightly. Under the covers, she ran a hand over the smooth burned skin on her right hand and felt the cool metal of the engagement ring soothe it a little. "And what makes you think that the same doesn't apply to you?"

Will did smile then, really smiled, widely and happier than she'd seen him since she'd handed him the plans of Pemberley.

Lizzy held out her arms and said reproachfully, "You're not going to make me get out of bed to give you a hug, are you?"

Will crossed the room. Unfortunately, he didn't lose his towel like Lizzy was hoping. Fortunately, when he came to the bed, he didn't waste time standing in front of her awkwardly or making jokes. He kissed her, a hand over her hair, and then she reached up to hug him tightly. When he was holding her and her arms slid around his bare back, she pressed her chin to his shoulder, and the fear came back to her. She was going to have to explain the rest, but not right now. It was easier just to hold Will and pretend that the idea of losing him didn't still scare her.

"Wanna know something funny?" Lizzy asked quietly.

He kissed the top of her head. "Hmm?"

"I had the _weirdest_ dream," she told him. "I dreamed that we were out in the living room, and _Dad_ shows up, then Molly, and then there's Jane saying that she's decided to get married today, and suddenly I'm not wearing pants—"

Will let her go, staring at Lizzy incredulously. Lizzy wondered for a moment if she'd shocked him by leaving changing the subject so abruptly, but then the door opened and Charlie strode in carrying two garment bags. His hair was up in all angles as if he'd been running his hands through it all morning.

"Will, your tux. You'll need to wear that long underwear we gave you underneath it," Charlie was saying, lying one of the garment bags on the bed beside the couple. "And Lizzy, Jane had me bring down your bridesmaid's dress. You're the maid-of-honor; you know that, right?"

Lizzy was staring at Charlie, open-mouthed and horrified, her arms frozen around Will's waist.

Will patted her hair comfortingly and told Charlie, "She knows."

Lizzy scrambled out of bed, rushed toward a pile of bags in the corner, and started searching through them in a panic.

"Lizzy, is there something wrong?" Charlie asked in a very wary tone that made it clear that he didn't really want to hear about it if there was.

"You're getting married. _Today_," Lizzy said, unzipping a pocket of her camera bag and pulling out a film canister. She rattled it next to her ear, listening to see if the film was still inside. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Well, we considered just eloping, but we decided a few of our friends might not forgive us," Charlie said, as Will unzipped his tux apprehensively.

"If I don't have enough film," Lizzy said, dropping three film canisters on the chest of drawers and wading into another pile of luggage to resume her search, "I probably _won't_ forgive you."

"Your father, he probably brought film," Will pointed out, tugging the garment bag off the tux.

She gasped and rushed to the doorway. "Dad!" she cried.

Ben Bennet was in the middle of the living room, fingering a small, silver object on an end table. He was dressed now in a tux, and his hair had been neatly combed. "You're not ready yet? You girls are supposed to leave in fifteen minutes to get your hair done or something."

Lizzy ignored that. "You have film, right?"

Ben Bennet looked horrified. "What kind of photographer do you think I am?" He paused and added, "What kind of _father_ do you think I am?"

Lizzy heard Will snort skeptically behind her, but she was too busy being relieved to reprimand him.

"Please tell me this isn't yours," Ben Bennet asked Lizzy, holding up the silver object with pleading eyes.

"What is it?" Lizzy asked squinting around the brilliant light streaming through the window behind him.

"A digital camera," Ben said slowly.

Lizzy let out another low, long sigh of relief. "Oh, duh. Digital. I don't _need_ film."

"Lizzy," Ben Bennet said sternly, "what have I told you about digital cameras—"

"Charlie!" shouted another voice, female and harried from the stairwell. It was Jane, wearing a white terrycloth robe, her hair hanging around her face in wet, red strands.

"Yeah?" Charlie shouted back.

"I'm coming downstairs," Jane called, easing herself down one step at a time, her back pressed to the wall. "Wherever you are, don't move. I'm going to run straight back up in a minute. I just need to get some makeup from my purse."

Lizzy stared from her sister to her future brother-in-law.

His eyes closed tight, Charlie explained to Will, "Bad luck, you know. To see the bride before the wedding."

"Will, are we _sure_ I'm not still dreaming?" Lizzy asked irritably, dashing back into the room and snatching clean underwear out of her luggage on her way to the shower, but she turned to smile when Will began to laugh.

15.

It was a good wedding.

Will had originally been apprehensive about a surprise wedding held _outdoors_ on the day after a Christmas snowstorm, but he was warm enough in the wool tux Charlie had handed him and the new long underwear underneath. Of course, some of the other guests probably couldn't agree; Will noticed a couple dozen of them shivering ranged out as they were across the snow-shoveled patio of the Antler Chandelier Lodge. Mrs. Bennet especially, wearing a heavy gray overcoat nearly too small for her and a scarf and hat in a horrific shade of pink, was making a big show of the chill, blowing on her hands and stamping her feet. It was possible, however, that she was only throwing a tantrum, letting everyone know that she didn't care for being excluded from the ceremony.

That was Jane and Charlie's compromise—the separation of guests and participants: they would have preferred a small wedding, but Mr. and Mrs. Bingley demanded their rights over their son's guest list, insisting on inviting nearly eight hundred of their closest friends, neighbors, rivals, and business associates. Because of the short notice, the wedding date, and the distant location, less than three hundred were able to come, and those that did arrive were restricted to the lodge's patio, overlooking the ceremony on the slope below. (To soothe the ruffled pride of the most arrogant guests, Fitz was clever enough to comment loudly that they would all be warmer, next to the fires that the resort lit across the patio.) The result was that on the slope, there was the illusion of a tiny wedding: only a priest, a bride, a groom, two bridesmaids, two groomsmen, and—after a short debate and a great deal of complaint from the bride's mother—one Ben Bennet to give the bride away.

With their backs to the lodge, it wasn't difficult to believe that they were alone here on the mountain: Jane and Charlie, with Will, Lizzy, Giana, Fitz, Ben Bennet, and the priest spread around them. It didn't take much efforts to ignore that it was a ski resort they stood on, with the valley spread out under them, laid white with fresh snow and dotted with dark trees, sparkling and bright in the afternoon sunlight.

Jane and Charlie didn't seem to mind much at all, the cold or the crowd or even the landscape below. They were standing together, hands clasped, gazes locked, listening and fidgeting as the priest said a few words about the sacrament of marriage. They were very happy, and Will was glad for them and less jealous than he had expected to be.

Lizzy was stunning. Not that the others weren't also very attractive. The suits were cut well, and someone—probably Maggie—had convinced Fitz to comb his tuft of red hair flat. Jane looked very nice, of course, in a white dress with so much floaty fabric that Fitz had mentioned earlier that she might be mistaken for a walking avalanche. In the high-collared velvet dress that Jane had forced on each of her bridesmaids, Giana looked entirely too pretty to be his little sister. But Lizzy…

She was simply stunning. His breath fell away if he looked at her too long.

It might have been the dress: it was a very pretty shade of blue, one that nearly matched the sky, and its shape followed her curves rather too well, so snug that Will wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to fit an extra layer underneath. It might have been her hair, arranged curly and glossy and pulled mostly back, or it might have been the flush in her cheeks, planted there by the chill and the excitement. But there was such life in her and a great deal of joy, an infectious kind of joy that Will couldn't help but feel every time her bright gaze met his.

He wanted to marry her.

Perhaps not right away. Perhaps it was still too early. It was entirely possible that he and Lizzy were still too young and much too stubborn to share a life just yet. Jane and Charlie were really too mild to have the sort of arguments that Will and Lizzy had. Most of the Fitzwilliams' scuffles were resolved when Fitz deferred to Maggie's better judgment, but neither Will's nature or Lizzy's would allow for that sort of relationship. Auntie Cindy had once mentioned that the relationship of Will's parents had been a passionate one, before their pride had kept them from speaking to each other. Will couldn't bear to risk that with Lizzy.

Still, it would be the kind of future to look forward to: life with Lizzy at Pemberley. It might not be an easy life, or a peaceful one, but life was supposed to be a journey. And sometimes a battle, and it nearly always seemed as if the battle was half-won when he knew Lizzy was with him, even if they were the ones fighting.

He wanted Lizzy to marry him.

He couldn't understand it. He had tried, of course. It wasn't that she was too young: Jane was only Lizzy's elder by minutes, and Lizzy had proved more mature than her twin on several occasions. It might be merely that she felt her career needed the bulk of her attention; her habit of independence and self-reliance would certainly account for that. It could simply be that Lizzy wasn't ready to settle down quite yet: there was too much energy in her, perhaps. She wasn't even able to stand still through this simple wedding ceremony, much abbreviated in this weather. She kept darting back and forth over the snow, running—nimbly enough for snowshoes—to frame the shots she wanted. Part of him wanted to capture her and hold her in one place until it was all finished, but he knew that she would only hold it against him for the rest of their lives. He contented himself instead with simply watching, smiling a little when he heard his sister smother giggles, and waiting for Lizzy to notice his attention.

He wanted Lizzy to _want_ to marry him.

It bothered him, of course, that she didn't but not as much as it once had. In the middle of the tour, for instance, when he had seen Lizzy the least and when he had been rather too persistent with his proposals. That had been one of the times that Lizzy had hung up on him as she threatened to do, in the middle of his record-breaking twenty-third proposal. He had been upset, bothered enough even to ask Maggie about it, which was _always_ quite risky, even if both Fitz and Charlie had been tucked away sleeping in the back of the tour bus.

Maggie had told him that there was probably a very Lizzy-like reason for the refusals, something tied to her will and her independence and the strict boundaries in which Lizzy allowed herself to be loved.

Will had already known this, so Maggie had added that it was actually a very good sign that Lizzy was so vocal about telling Will what he was doing wrong. "It means that Lizzy's training you for the rest of your life," Maggie had explained.

Will heard a shutter click, very close by, and glanced sharply to his right to see Lizzy, stepping back slightly and framing a shot of both him and Fitz. Then she cradled the camera in one hand, smiled widely at him—an instant away from a laugh, and mouthed "I love you" as emphatically as she could.

He would have responded, but she was already bounding back to stand docilely next to Giana, respectful now as the priest asked Charlie if he would love and cherish Jane as long as they both lived.

They had plenty of time, Will reminded himself. He knew that Lizzy loved him—loved him more everyday, she'd said. She'd promised that she wasn't going anywhere, nowhere that Will wasn't invited to follow.

It was enough--he decided, watching her cheerfully take another picture, standing just where she was—what he and Lizzy shared.

He could wait, until she wanted what he did.

He could wait as long as she needed.

16.

The wedding cake was in glorious ruin: it had been the red velvet kind, and it had been delicious. It was majestic in its turmoil. The three bottom tiers had been ravaged and reduced to dark red crumbs, white icing, and an assortment of scattered decorations, shaped into ribbons and small, round balls, all silver and edible. Only the top tier was untouched, barely eight inches in diameter and the silver icing bow as fresh as it had been at the beginning of the reception, almost four hours before. It definitely deserved a picture.

It may not have deserved the half a roll that Lizzy had devoted to it, but the cake-_cutting_ had managed to take up over two rolls, twice that if their dad's pictures counted. Besides, Lizzy was a little giddy. And the cake was really good. And Ben Bennet hadn't thought to take any pictures of a devoured cake, she told herself smugly; he was too busy dancing.

"Jane Elizabeth Bennet," said a voice behind her, and the smug smirk fell from Lizzy's face.

"Hello, Mother," Lizzy replied dully.

"Don't 'hello, Mother' me," Mrs. Bennet sniffed. Lizzy lowered the lens but couldn't make herself look up from the shot glass in her mother's hand. It was almost empty, and the lime at the bottom had been sucked almost dry. "Like you _haven't_ been avoiding me all night."

Lizzy bit her tongue. It was pointless to try to explain that she _hadn't_ been avoiding _anyone_. She and her mother had been in sight of each other from the moment Lizzy arrived at the hairdresser's with Jane, Giana, and Molly. It was just that they hadn't been alone together. Lizzy was usually careful to make sure that she _wasn't_ alone with her mother. Things were always a little easier between them when Mrs. Bennet had some distractions to keep her occupied, distractions that today included a newly wedded daughter and an agreeably wealthy son-in-law.

"And you should look at me when I'm talking to you," Mrs. Bennet added sharply.

Lizzy swung her camera over and framed a quick shot: her mother, wearing a dress suit made of eggplant-colored silk; heavy pearls hung from her ears and her neck, borrowed probably from Aunt Grace. She had gained weight since Lizzy had seen her last, at Thanksgiving. She had both hands on her hips, even the one with the shot glass. Her cheeks were almost as bright as her outfit. _Click_.

"_Not_ through the camera," Mrs. Bennet scolded, and Lizzy lowered it again warily.

Her mother was drunk.

This was going to be a problem.

"And what have you _done_ to your _dress_?" Mrs. Bennet asked scowling. She took a step back to look Lizzy over but wobbled a little doing it.

Lizzy looked down and again smoothed the velvet material across her stomach self-consciously. Her long underwear had been first to go: Lizzy had changed out of it just as soon as they'd gotten back inside, before dinner started, and it was stowed in the coatroom next to Will's jacket. It was still too hot though at her seat, with a fireplace built high and hot just behind her, so she'd snuck away at the end of the toasts and begged a pair of scissors off the concierge desk. A brief trip to the bathroom freed the velvet dress of its high collar, half of both sleeves, and several feet of skirt.

Will would have appreciated the story, he'd probably mention fairy-godmother .com, but to her mother, Lizzy explained only, "It was hot."

"It was _classy_," her mother corrected, "and very pretty until you took it upon herself to change it."

Lizzy reminded herself that she'd already had several compliments on her alterations, one of them from the concierge who'd lent her the scissors. But the customer service was very good here; he might have been paid to suck up a little bit.

"You'll scare off all your suitors if you don't take care of yourself," Mrs. Bennet continued.

"I don't need suitors, Mother," Lizzy reminded her quietly. "I have Will."

"And where is he?" Mrs. Bennet asked.

Lizzy turned to point toward her table, where Will had volunteered to stay behind and baby-sit Zarine so that Fitz and Maggie could dance. When she'd last seen him, just before the wedding cake had distracted her, he had the baby in his lap, leaning over the baby and speaking earnestly, probably telling the baby stories about Fitz's younger years that Will would have to warn Zarine never to repeat. The table was abandoned now, champagne flutes risings unevenly from the table; even Zarine's high chair was empty.

"You should really keep better track of your men," Mrs. Bennet said, and Lizzy felt her jaw clench, hearing her mother sounding so smug. "You've already scared off one fiancé. You can't afford to lose another one."

Lizzy didn't bother to correct her mother. She couldn't afford to lose her temper. This was Jane's _wedding_; she shouldn't have to rush over and play peacemaker _now. _

"You're twenty-three years old," Mrs. Bennet informed her, "and you're not getting any younger."

Besides, the Bingleys' guests were _already_ gossiping about the bride's family. No need to add fuel to the fire.

"This is your _best_ chance," Mrs. Bennet was explaining, a step away from grasping Lizzy's shoulders. Her voice was thick and clumsy with drink.

Lizzy decided her best chance was in keeping herself occupied. She turned her camera stubbornly and silently to the dance floor, small and cramped in the crowded lodge. The majority of guests was old and dignified enough to keep things from getting raunchy, but this was the time of night and the stage of intoxication when the couples in love or lust began leaning on each other. Next, they would re-familiarize themselves with each other's bodies. There were dozens of couples that Lizzy had never met, and also Fitz and Maggie dancing by the nearest speakers, but it was Jane and Charlie that Lizzy wanted more pictures from.

"It's _your _time now," Mrs. Bennet insisted.

Lizzy caught a glimpse of white, whirling skirt, somewhere in the middle of the floor, but that was all. She consoled herself with a shot of Fitz, clicking his heels in the air to make Maggie laugh.

"You've got to act _now_, when he's still chasing," Mrs. Bennet was telling her. "Otherwise, he'll lose interest when you're not careful, and find someone else. Then, you'll be alone."

It probably was no coincidence that her mother was making this point as Ben Bennet waltzed by with Professor Brettman-Bennet, his eyes closed, his hand perilously close to the professor's bottom. For a moment, Lizzy pitied her mother and paused in her clicking.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Bennet took this as encouragement and continued, "You should marry him fast now, before—"

"I don't know who you're talking about, Mrs. Bennet," interrupted a very British voice, sharp with anger, and Lizzy felt a hand envelop hers. Just before she managed to drop her camera in surprise, Will caught it deftly with his other hand. When Lizzy looked up, Will's scowl was harsh and furious and directed entirely at her mother. "However, since you seem to be talking about _me_," Will said, maneuvering himself so that his arm was now around Lizzy's waist and his body stood between Lizzy and her mother, "let me assure you that I'll marry Lizzy when she'll have me, not before, and that I'll _never_ find anyone else." Will paused, glancing at Lizzy, and spent just enough time being surprised at his own outburst to give Mrs. Bennet time to button up her shock and close her mouth with as much dignity as she could. "If you'll excuse us, Mrs. Bennet," Will added, in his usual distant tone, guiding Lizzy firmly away, "I've come to dance with your daughter."

His scowl fierce and purposeful and pointed somewhere in the distance, Will then began crossing the floor with great long strides, and he was taking Lizzy with him. She glanced back to see her mother tugging her eggplant suit into place carefully and brushing something invisible and probably non-existent off her skirt. Lizzy snorted softly and looked up at Will, who was guiding them around the dancing couples carefully, his hand moving to cradle the small of her back.

"You didn't come to dance with me," Lizzy said slyly. "You came to _rescue_ me."

"And what if I did?" Will replied, his scowl tight. "She's a _terrible_ woman, Lizzy. I'll tolerate your father; _he's_ fair harmless. But your _mother_—she needles you on purpose. Like a child that wants attention, she tells you _terrible_ things, _untrue_ things, to get a rise from you. She shouldn't speak to you that way. You shouldn't _let_ her speak to you that way. I—" He stopped abruptly, stopped speaking and stopped moving, so they stood still in the middle of the room and forced the dancers to move around them. Then he turned to her with a sheepish wince, head bowed and angled toward hers. "You aren't really angry, are you? I'll go apologize if you like, but I'm not sorry, not really. She's awful, your mother. She might even be worse than Aunt Catty, although that may—"

Lizzy dragged his head down and reached up on tiptoes to plant her lips on his; Will kissed her back eagerly, his hand on her back pressing her tenderly closer. "I'm not mad," she said quietly, in case he hadn't noticed.

"Oh, you liked that, did you?" Will murmured, impressed with himself and dropping several smug kisses along her brow.

"Yeah, I kind of did," Lizzy admitted smiling.

"Brilliant. It's nice to do something right for a change," Will confided to her in a loud, hoarse whisper. "It's very difficult to tell with you, Lizzy. Oftentimes, I make an attempt to be gallant, and you'll tell me I've made an ass of myself."

Lizzy opened her mouth and then closed it again. "I'm sorry," she said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"It's quite all right," Will assured her, patting her hip affectionately. "I'm accustomed to it now. It hardly bothers me anymore."

"You were very gallant," Lizzy told him grinning, mostly to see how he would respond.

He beamed. "Thank you." He kissed her briefly and triumphantly. "This is good. This is positive reinforcement. I feel as if I'm being properly trained now. Now, _would_ you care to dance, Miss Bennet?" he asked graciously and even added a small gallant bow. Unfortunately, he misjudged the space around him and accidentally bumped into two well-groomed elderly strangers dancing behind him.

Lizzy giggled, despite herself, despite her hand clapped over her mouth. It was unusual for Will to be clumsy, and he _never_ talked this freely, but now…now he sounded a lot like Giana did, in her most talkative moments.

"Terribly sorry," Will said quickly, wincing and scooting closer to Lizzy. "Oops," he added to her in an undertone, "I do believe those are Charlie's grandparents, but his grandmother has had so much face-lifting done recently, it's _very_ difficult to tell.—Of course, if you prefer, you're free to resume your camera work. I'll wait. I'll wait forever if I have to—" Lizzy smiled and opened her mouth to tell that was sweet, but Will grinned wickedly and added, "But I should warn you: if I have to wait longer than ten or twenty minutes, I'll send Fitz or Giana or someone to whisk your camera away so we can have our dance."

"Are you okay?" Lizzy asked, peering into his face worriedly.

Will straightened, pushing his hair from his eyes absently and blinking several times. "Certainly," he said with a brief smile. "Why?"

"I think that's the most I've heard you say at once since…" Lizzy considered. "Forever. Well no, actually, since Pem—"

Then Lizzy interrupted herself with a gasp, wide-eyed and shocked, when she felt someone small, blond, and long-haired hug her tightly around her waist. "Found you!" cried Lydia happily. Before Lizzy could work up a response, she pushed two fingers in her mouth, whistled sharply over her shoulder, and called, "Giana! Over here!"

"Lizzy, it's your cousin," Will said, stepping slightly back and looking at Lydia apprehensively, "the one that frightens me."

"_She_ scares you?" Lizzy repeated aghast, her arm still lying across her cousin's shoulders.

"_I_ scare you?" Lydia echoed delighted, both arms still wrapped around Lizzy's waist.

"Did I know you were coming?" Will asked Lydia with a cold, stern stare and immediately turned to Lizzy. "Did we _know_ she was coming?"

"Will, it was a _surprise_ wedding," Giana reminded him, her head appearing over her brother's shoulder. "That means we weren't _supposed_ to know anyone was coming."

"Giana!" said Will with a wide, happy smile, and he dropped an arm across her shoulders and squeezed it affectionately. "You've changed your clothes." Giana glanced down at the jeans and striped button-down shirt she was wearing and frowned defensively, but Will only commented, "Don't you think you're a bit underdressed?"

"Jimmy and I have a shuttle toward the airport in twenty minutes," Giana reminded him dryly. "Our flight's been delayed _all_ day long, and we'll probably be _bumped_ to tomorrow's earliest flight, but I don't quite want to travel in a _bridesmaid's_ dress. I rather doubt they allow blue velvet _through_ the American airport security anyway. Besides," she added in a whine, "it was rather _hot_—"

"Yep," Lizzy agreed with a solemn nod.

"I love what you've done with yours, though," Giana added with a small smile in Lizzy's direction. "I might change mine, but…ooo," she said, eyes wide and worried. "I've just remembered: I forgot to pack it; it's still in our closet. Would you mind packing it for me, Lizzy? Please?"

"Sure—" Lizzy said.

"Wait. You're leaving?" Will asked.

"Nope, _I_ just got here," Lydia chirped grinning, her long hair swinging behind her. To Lizzy, she added, "I would've gotten here in time for the ceremony, but our flight got delayed too. Heard it was beautiful, though. The wedding, not the flight."

"Lizzy, did we know she was leaving?" Will asked with a slight, bewildered frown and Lizzy nodded and tried not to laugh.

Her hands on her hips, Giana told her brother sternly, "You're not to have any more champagne."

Lizzy gasped, mouth gaping.

"I had only one glass," Will protested, drawing himself up a little taller, like he was trying to gather his dignity. "It was for the toasts; it was unavoidable—"

"You got drunk off _one_ glass of champagne?" Lydia asked, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"I am _not_ drunk," Will replied, insulted. "I'm _tipsy_."

"Maybe not, but it explains why you're acting so weird," Lizzy said with a bemused, affectionate grin.

"I am _not_ acting weird," Will protested with a hint of temper, but he paused to think it over. "Am I really acting differently?" he asked, and Lizzy nodded, wrinkling her nose.

"You haven't seen this before?" Lydia asked her cousin. "This is the first time you've gotten your boyfriend drunk?"

"Drunk is a rather strong word," Will complained.

Lizzy shook her head. "He doesn't drink. Well," she added with a cheerful grin in Will's direction, "usually."

Lydia frowned, pressing her lips together hard, very close to disapproving. "Really?"

"No, not for years," Giana explained.

"_Oh,_" said Will flatly, and the three others turned to him to see him eyeing both his sister and Lizzy's cousin suspiciously. "Do you two know each other?"

Giana clucked her tongue under her breath, frowning, and looked to Lydia for an answer.

"Lizzy, how do they know each other?" Will asked.

"We're in the same club," Lydia answered with a dangerously straight face. "WBWW: Women By Way of Wi—"

"They both crashed at my apartment," Lizzy interrupted quickly. "Back in April." If Giana wanted Will to know that she'd _asked_ Lizzy if she could meet Lydia, then that was Giana's responsibility.

"So…" Will said slowly, looking from one college sophomore to the other. "You _know_ each other; you're…acquaintances."

"We're _friends_," Giana corrected, and when Lydia looked at her, a smile—a _real_ smile, Lizzy noticed—spread across her face. "Will," Giana said, in a sharp tone that made Will stand to attention. "We've got to talk," she blurted and immediately turned to Lizzy, hugging her swiftly. "Bye, Lizzy. Come see me when you get back to New York, all right?'

"Um…okay," Lizzy said, holding Will's gaze when he looked back at her half-panicked as his sister took his arm and dragged him away, toward the corner of the room farthest from the speakers. Then he accidentally knocked into someone else, a man about her father's age, and broke her gaze to make his apologies. "Should I be worried?" Lizzy murmured.

"Hmm? About what? You mean, are we going to have a repeat of last night's shout-fest?" Lydia asked innocently, and she grinned slyly at Lizzy's narrow-eyed frown. "As soon as she saw me, Giana dragged me aside and filled me in. Let me give you a quick preview—" Lydia cleared her throat and took on a very bad, very high-pitched British accent: "Oh, Will. You're not really so much of a bastard. You're my brother still, and I'm quite fond of you. Blah, blah, blah."

"Giana doesn't sound like that," Lizzy snorted.

Lydia grinned back, swinging her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, but you get the picture, don't you? It's almost like you're actually over there and getting in some eavesdropping action."

Lizzy smiled. "It's good to see you, Lydia. Jane didn't tell me you were coming."

Lydia's grin hardened a little, and there was a new cold glint in her eyes as she glanced away, over the dancers to her right. "Jane didn't _know_," she said carefully. "The groom invited us."

Jane and Lydia were no longer close. The last few months in the apartment that the Bennet twins shared with their cousin had been tense: with Jane so blissfully in love and practically living at Netherfield, and then with Lydia still heartbroken over Wickham, and the baby. There had been fights. Lydia turned out to be one of the few people who knew how to find Jane's last nerve and step on it.

Lizzy grimaced sympathetically. "Charlie invited you?"

"Charlie…Or Charlie's mom," Lydia murmured with a half-smirk. "We live right down the street from Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. Boston's a small neighborhood after all."

Lizzy squeezed Lydia around the shoulder and pressed her lips gently against her cousin's forehead.

"I'm _fine_," Lydia said, smiling a little and reaching up to squeeze Lizzy's hand. "Mom's not: she's at home, pouting because her own god-daughter failed to invite her to her wedding. Dad's here, though. Over there," she said, pointing out Uncle Jeremy by the olive bar. His hair was grayer than Lizzy remembered, and his belly strained against the button of his navy blue suit.

"Are you really okay?" Lizzy asked quietly.

"Yep," said Lydia with a cheerful, empty smile.

"Lydia…" began Lizzy worriedly.

"So Will doesn't drink?" Lydia interrupted.

Lizzy sighed and bent her head. She remembered what Will had told her once, in the early days of the Jane-Lydia scuffles: "You can spend a lifetime trying to sort out your family's problems, Lizzy; they'll only develop new ones." She'd gotten mad at the time: Lydia had still been too raw for Lizzy to hear any criticism toward her cousin. But now it made her feel a little less anxious, a little less guilty.

"No," Lizzy replied finally.

"Not at _all_?" Lydia asked flabbergasted.

Lizzy considered explaining about Will's father, but all she said was, "He does stupid things when he's drunk. Like sleep with a Harpy."

"A Harpy," Lydia repeated.

"Desi Harper," Lizzy explained.

"Oh, yeah—wasn't she that model he dated for like, a month?" Lydia asked.

"A _week_," Lizzy corrected scowling.

"It still seems kind of sketchy," Lydia said suspiciously, still staring across the room with a slight frown. "Never trust a man until you've seen him drunk—that's what I always say."

"That's the first time I've heard you say it," Lizzy pointed out, bemused.

"Well, now I'm saying it to you," Lydia said primly, craning her neck and lifting on her tiptoes to see over the floor.

Lizzy laughed. "Are you trying to give me relationship advice?"

"No, I've done that already," Lydia replied. "What I'm _trying_ to do is catch the eye of that yummy-looking young man next to the punch."

Turning to look, Lizzy noticed a boy just a little younger than herself, with dark hair and very blue long-lashed eyes, standing with one hand in his pocket and the other dwarfing a small cup of punch. Lizzy jumped, surprised, when she felt her cousin's lips brush her cheek. "Looks like I'm going to have to go over there," Lydia said with a grin. "Later."

Lizzy snorted softly, lifted her camera, and framed a shot: taking up most of the left side was a very, very young woman in a tight green dress, her long blonde hair swinging left. The middle of the frame was cluttered by dancing couples, hands linked, heads bowed toward each other, but in the upper right hand corner, turned toward the lens, there stood a lone boy with a hand in his pocket. _Click_.

Lydia knew how to take care of herself now, and she wanted everyone else to know it too. Lizzy just hoped that he didn't know how to take care of herself the way Charlotte used to.

Will was still in the corner, looking like a child in time-out: his head bent, his shoulder hunched forward, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Giana had one arm bent behind her back, holding the opposite arm's elbow, but her chin was raised high. Things were going to be different between the Darcy siblings, but that wasn't bad, not necessarily. She lifted her camera, framed the two figures in the corner, almost unnoticeable behind the activity of dancers in front of them. _Click_. But Lizzy kneew the picture probably wouldn't out; it was too far away.

Lizzy searched the room for familiar faces. Lydia, she found easiest. Her blonde, beautiful cousin had seduced her declared target onto the dance floor. Lizzy watched through the lens as Lydia settled her partner's hands a little lower on her waist with a wry, challenging grin: _Click_. She probably wouldn't ever need to develop it, but there was always the chance that he was the love of Lydia's life.

Ben Bennet was among the dinner tables, overrun with white-aproned wait staff hurrying to clear the dessert plates away. He looked better without the beard, but to tell you the truth, he was losing more hair. His head shone in the lamplight. He was training his camera across the wait staff's activity, and—if Lizzy guessed right—at the fireplace behind it. _Click_. She was _smugly_ confident that her father hadn't caught any pictures of the wedding's camera people.

She noticed the Fitzwilliams by the door. Fitz was holding Zarine—a very _fussy_ Zarine, red-faced and pouting—as Maggie shrugged on her jacket. Maggie grinned as she caught Lizzy's eyes, waving as if she'd been trying for a while. Then she tucked both hands under her tilted head with her eyes closed and then jerked her thumb toward the baby: they were taking the resort shuttle back to the cottage; Zarine was ready to go to bed. Lizzy nodded to show she understood and watched through the camera as they left: Zarine on Fitz's shoulder, Fitz's back halfway turned as he stared out the doorway, Maggie's gentle hand on his back as she held open the door. _Click_.

Jane and Charlie were still nowhere in sight, still caught up somewhere in the middle of their wedding reception, but Lizzy saw her mother halfway across the room, speaking animatedly, still carrying a glass, but this one had been refilled. Lizzy grimaced when she realized that the woman bearing the brunt of Mrs. Bennet's attention was Molly Brettman-Bennet. It seemed like her mother had picked Jane's wedding to work her way through all her confrontations.

Lizzy hurried forward so quickly that she accidentally knocked hard into another guest. "Sorry. I—" she started to say, but she froze when she recognized the ash blonde hair, the slight crooked frame, the black designer dress. Caroline Bingley was sneering at her. Lizzy scowled and muttered, mostly to amuse herself: "The wedding, Act Four: the In-laws-Alone Together."

"She's not alone," said another voice. Desi Harper: Her violet scarf seemed to have made its way from ski wear to party attire; she'd tied it around her neck. She was also wearing a shorter, tighter variant of Caroline's dress, but the sneer matched exactly.

Charlie must've invited her, Lizzy guessed. As a friend of his sister.

It looked like Molly Brettman-Bennet was going to have to deal with Lizzy's mother on her own.

Still, Lizzy was determined to stay in a good mood. She was even determined to be pleasant. "I guess we're sisters now," Lizzy said to Caroline with a smile. "Kind of. By marriage."

"We're not sisters," Caroline scoffed. "We're rivals."

Lizzy almost retorted that someone was only one marriage away from having Will as a kind-of brother, but she figured Caroline wasn't ready to hear that yet.

"Yeah?" Lizzy said instead. "You taking photography classes or something?"

Desi Harper forced her breath through her teeth in low, disbelieving hiss.

"We're talking about _Will_," Caroline said haughtily and placed her hands on her hips. She, like Lizzy, was _also_ wearing a diamond ring, but on her right hand.

Lizzy decided that it was okay to be difficult, _pleasantly_ difficult. "Will? But he's a terrible photographer; he's really not any competition—"

"You…_stole_ him from me," Caroline said, her voice trembling.

Lizzy snorted, despite herself and her determination to be pleasant. "I was under the impression Will could choose for himself," she said with a slight smile.

Desi Harper spoke, her hands running across the smooth dark fabric of her scarf, her eyes on Lizzy's, her voice light and hard-edged: "Everybody knows your relationship is just for publicity."

By everyone, the Harpy meant _her_ crowd. It meant that this was the rumor traveling around the most exclusive circles in New York City. It didn't bother Lizzy much: she'd heard it before. Even read about it once and twice in the tabloids. It was only a problem when someone believed it.

"It was Maggie's idea, huh?" Caroline mused, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers on her forearm. "It was a good way to sell an album: two bandmates, a convenient pair of twins—"

"You don't marry someone to sell an album," Lizzy interrupted sharply. She knew she was in danger of losing her temper. She didn't want to let Caroline get away with calling Jane 'convenient' on her wedding, but she forced herself to take a slow breath. "Besides," she added quietly, "the last album was years ago."

"There's a new one on the way," Desi Harper commented in the same light, hard-edged tone.

Eyes narrowed, Lizzy stared at the Harpy until the model dropped her gaze, feigned disinterest, and turned her attention to the dancers. Lizzy reminded herself firmly that they didn't actually believe what they were saying.—Well, Caroline had probably talked herself into delusion, but Desi…Desi just wanted what was out of reach and what other people had.

"There would _need_ to be a wedding," said Desi Harper without meeting Lizzy's glare.

"But—" Caroline said, looking toward the dance floor and back to Desi with a small, confused frown. "Charlie and Jane—"

"I doubt your little stunt can carry _two_ albums to Platinum," Desi Harper murmured, turning back to Lizzy with a tiny, triumphant smirk.

Lizzy lost control of her temper. "Don't give me that _shit_—" she started, taking a step toward the Harpy. Something terrible might have happened, Jane and Charlie's wedding might have been ruined or worse, if one guitar-calloused hand hadn't dropped on Lizzy's upper arm, if another hadn't cupped her face, and if a mouth hadn't fallen on hers, kissing her gently, tasting of champagne, and startling all the speech out of her.

"Giana's gone," Will told her matter-of-factly, stroking her cheek with her thumb as she blinked up at him, stunned by his abrupt entrance. "She wanted to come say good-bye, but she was rather late already and the shuttle had just arrived. She _did_, however, tell _me_ to tell _you_ that she loves you, she misses you, and she would like to remind you to pack her dress and bring it back with you. Also, she forbids me to tell you what we were talking about. She said she's holding that information hostage, and if you really want to know, you'll have to go visit her at school. Although," Will added, dropping his voice close to a whisper and dropping his head—his _mouth_—close to hers, "I'll tell you if you ask me to. You'll have to feign surprise and make appropriate noises when she has her go around, of course, but I'll tell you whatever you'd like."

Lizzy glanced around him and chanced a brief look at Caroline Bingley and Desi Harper: they were staring at Will like she'd guessed, but they were shocked. They probably hadn't ever heard him say so much at once.

Will turned slightly to see what Lizzy was looking at and made a brow-raised show of noticing the other two women. "'Lo. Caroline. Desi," he said with a small smile and slight nod to each of them. "Are you having a nice time?"

Caroline was opening and closing her gaping mouth, and she turned to her companion for an answer.

Desi Harper was more composed. She'd even resumed her scarf petting. "Lovely," she said, letting her lipstick-painted lips curl upwards. "Now that you're here, Will."

"I'm afraid I can't stay," Will replied with an apologetic smile. His hand traveled down and caught Lizzy's. "I'm only here to ask Lizzy if she's ready to dance with me." When he turned toward her, Lizzy was already grinning. "Well? Are you?"

Lizzy shouldered her camera, felt it swing across her back on its strap, and nodded. "Have a good night," she told Caroline and Desi pleasantly and let Will tug her to the dance floor.

When they were several steps and three couples away in the middle of the crowded dance floor, Lizzy turned her mouth to Will's ear and asked, "What was _that_? Rescue Number Two?"

"It might be." He didn't bother to lower his voice, but he was grinning widely, _boyishly_. Whatever Giana had told him hadn't upset him. "But probably not the kind you would think. Those poor girls are no match for you when you're in a temper." Lizzy repeated, resisting the urge to glance back at the dumbstruck faces of those "poor girls." Will grinned a little wider, kissed her swiftly on the mouth, and added, "Neither am I, come to think of it."

"That's not true," Lizzy scolded, letting Will guide her around another middle-aged couple and smiling up his head slightly.

"Well, no," Will amended, ducking his head slightly, "but you give me the most trouble, truth be—" He stopped abruptly, eyes wide and startled, and looked down to see a pair of pale, feminine arms around his waist. He looked back at Lizzy with the beginning of a frown. "It's not—"

But Caroline had joined them once again.

She seemed to be trying to bury her face into his back and tell him something at the same time, but everything she said was too muffled to understand.

"Pardon me?" Will asked, suddenly very polite and very stiff.

"I said, 'It doesn't have to be this way. You don't have to hide it from me, not anymore,'" Caroline said, lifting her face toward him, eyes shining, nearly panting.

"Hide?" Will repeated with a bewildered glance at Lizzy.

Lizzy rolled her eyes and wondered if she could pleasantly peel Caroline off Will.

"Don't embarrass yourself, Caroline," said someone else on Will and Lizzy's other side. Desi Harper had _also_ come to visit, stroking her scarf and looking over Caroline Bingley with blank-faced disapproval.

Caroline only transferred her grip from Will's waist to his arm, and in his partial freedom, Will leaned slightly away from her, pressing shoulder to shoulder with Lizzy. "You don't have to hide it now, Will," she said, her voice breathy and desperate. "I know you feel something for me, too. You don't have to keep up this…this…charade."

"You've just embarrassed yourself," Desi Harper commented, and Lizzy threw a glare at her just for good measures.

"There _isn't_ any charade." Will disentangled himself, lifting his arm high out of Caroline's reach. He took a step away carefully, taking Lizzy with him. When he noticed with relief that Caroline was no longer chasing him, he made as if to make a quick getaway and managed three hurried steps, helping Lizzy along, before Caroline called, almost wailing, "You mean, you've been leading me on? All these years?"

"Don't make it worse," Desi Harper hissed, but Will froze mid-step. When Lizzy looked up, his face was carefully blank, and when he turned slowly, Lizzy turned with him.

"I—" Will said and stopped. Lizzy noticed with annoyance that Caroline was trying to be tragic again; she'd even pressed a hand to her trembling mouth and dropped her head to Desi Harper's shoulder. "I never meant—" When he stopped again, abruptly, Lizzy squeezed his hand and felt him grip it gratefully in response. He took a deep breath. "I had no intention of giving you false hope, Caroline," he said stiffly, rigid and tense. His face was as stony as Lizzy had seen it in years. "I _did_ think it was clear, what my feelings were, and—" He cleared his throat slightly. "I apologize for any harm I might have caused."

Lizzy's jaw dropped, but Caroline—the ungrateful, spiteful little twit—sniveled as haughtily as she could, "You mean, I meant _nothing_ to you?"

"I pay you the respect deserving of my best friend's elder sister," Will said gravely, "but I'm afraid I was never able to forget the time I first visited you at Charlie's home. When you called me names and treated me as a servant."

"But that was _years_ ago," Caroline protested, lifting her head, her eyes shining again. "I've changed; everything's changed."

"Your…er, feelings for me might have changed, but it is difficult to revise a first impression," Will said quietly, and Caroline drooped again over her friend's shoulder, crestfallen.

Desi Harper looked almost smug. She was very close to smiling triumphantly.

"I rather hope you don't feel the same way, Desi," Will said hesitantly, looking straight at her and gripping Lizzy's hand so hard that Lizzy felt the burn across it tug painfully. "We tried something once, but we were terrible to each other. I was miserable; we were _both_ miserable. I don't think—" he said and stopped himself. He looked down at the floor, and Lizzy noticed that he was very close to panicking. "Again, I apologize," he said swiftly. "Have a good evening, both of you." He nodded awkwardly to each of them, and then he _did_ make his exit, walking so quickly in long-legged strides that Lizzy had to jog to keep up.

When they were half a ballroom away, Lizzy glanced backward to make sure that they weren't being followed (there were no Harpies or Carolines in sight; the crowd had swallowed them up) and asked again, "What _was_ that_?"_

"That was _awful_," Will moaned. His hand still safe in Lizzy's. He moved them back a few feet, gaining a more comfortable distance from the speaker and pulled Lizzy closer to him, one arm around her waist. "I don't _ever_ want to do that again."

Lizzy placed her right hand on Will's shoulder so he could begin the waltz. "I don't really understand why you did in the first place," she said, trying not to giggle.

"She was upset," Will murmured, resting his chin on her head and sighing heavily.

"She was _upsetting_," Lizzy corrected cheerfully. "There's a difference."

"No, she was upset, and it was me that was upsetting," Will said sharply. "I've heard from _several_ individuals that apologies aren't my strong point—"

"So you apologized to Caroline Bingley?" Lizzy said. "_Caroline_?"

"I thought it would be good practice," he mumbled above her head.

"But Will—" Lizzy said, fighting a grin and losing. "You didn't do anything wrong. It should've been _Caroline_ apologizing."

"Ah," said Will shortly, and Lizzy knew he was embarrassed.

"It was good, through," Lizzy said, leaning out from under his chin and stroking his scowling face gently. "From a practicing standpoint."

"Yes," he replied, looking out over the dance floor instead of meeting her gaze.

"I _like_ that you're trying," Lizzy told him.

Will smiled and looked down. "I couldn't have done it if you weren't with me."

Lizzy grinned. "You couldn't have done if you hadn't drank—"

"Yes, yes, one and a half glasses of champagne," Will said with a mock-irritable snort. "If _your_ alcohol tolerance is bad, mine must be horrific. It's _embarrassing_. Giana won't ever let me forget it."

"Well, I might not let you forget it either," said Lizzy affectionately, letting her head fall to his chest.

Will waited a moment, waited until Lizzy got comfortable enough to close her eyes and let Will turn them slowly around the crowded room, before he asked, "You don't think I'm an alcoholic, do you?"

Lizzy snorted. "Will, this is the first time you've drank in about three years. How does that make you an alcoholic?"

"I might have a relapse," Will said ominously.

"Will," Lizzy said, leaning away from him again to look him in the eye, "you're not an alcoholic."

"I could become one," Will pointed out. "Everything's just so _easy_ when you've had a drink or two, and it seems like I could use all the help I can find."

"You're not your father," Lizzy told him firmly. "You're not going to decline into alcoholism, and you're not going to take Pemberley down with you. You've actually done more to _help _Pemberley than most of its previous owners, so there you go."

Will swallowed, watching the other dancers and looming over Lizzy for half an instant more, and then he smiled abruptly, grinning at Lizzy with laughter hiding in his voice. "You're very good," he said.

Lizzy was so startled that she almost stopped dancing for a second until Will tugged her along again. "What?"

"You're very good," he repeated, pronouncing the words teasingly slow. "You're good for me and around me. I believe I'll keep you.—And I mean that in the most loving, romantic, and non-sexist way possible," he added hastily. "Before you get angry."

"I wasn't going to get angry," Lizzy protested.

"You might've," Will insisted grinning. "There's really no telling now, is there? I'm becoming too quick at keeping myself from being irritating. Soon I'll be _so_ well-trained that you'll never want to bother trying with anyone else again." Lizzy opened her mouth to remind him that she'd already explained that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else, but Will looked down between them and then back up at her face. "I like this," he said and looked back down. "I like this—what you've done with your dress. It wasn't like this before, was it?"

"No…" Lizzy said, watching him glance her over.

"Let's get the full effect, shall we?" he asked and twirled her so abruptly that the velvet skirt flared out from her legs and Lizzy felt the hair lift from her neck.

"Whoa," Lizzy said, blinking when she'd resumed her original stance with one hand in Will's and one hand on his shoulder. "I might need more warning next time."

"Very nice," Will said, nodding at her dress. "It's nice to see that your training in the fashion industry can be put to practical use. I _especially_ like this area right here," he said with a tiny, expectant grin as he ran his finger down the new neckline she'd cut for herself.

Lizzy slapped his hand away with a glare, just before his hand managed to find itself brushing her breasts while they were in public. "Okay, so I got a little scissor happy."

"It's nice. You don't usually wear low-cut clothing; it's a nice change," Will told her, looking down between them again.

"_Face_," Lizzy said sternly.

Will looked up again, bemused. "It is nice. I bet there are quite a few bridesmaids who wished they had 'Fairy Godmother' scissors as talented as yours."

"That's where she got them!" Lizzy said with a wide, excited grin. "The dresses—Jane ordered them from fairy-godmother. com."

Will raised his eyebrows politely, but Lizzy knew that he was trying not to laugh at her excitement.

"I noticed when I was cutting up the dress," Lizzy explained. "Aunt Diana must've gotten her a special deal or something."

"Or something," Will agreed with the same polite tone.

"Although…_velvet_? Jane picked _velvet_?" Lizzy said sullenly. "Does she have any idea how _hot_ velvet gets?"

"Yes, but you weren't cold during the ceremony outside," Will pointed out.

"Well, no…" Lizzy admitted.

"Then, it served its purpose," Will said. "She probably wasn't thinking past the ceremony."

"Well, when we get married, let's make sure we're someplace where I won't have to wear long underwear under my dress," Lizzy said irritably.

"Of course not," Will said affectionately. "It would be too many layers for the wedding nig—" He stiffened and pushed her back far enough so that he could look her in the face. "Wait—when we _what?_"

Lizzy froze.

There was a click next to them, and Will and Lizzy both turned to see Jane, laughing and holding a disposable camera in her hands. She was still wearing her wedding dress, the white fabric glistening with small beads, but her veil had disappeared. "I don't know what just happened," she was saying with a wide smile, "but Will, your face was priceless."

Charlie was just behind Jane, holding his jacket over his arm, his necktie hanging around her neck. "Are you all right?" he asked Will.

Lizzy looked, but she didn't manage to gauge Will's response. Her sister had thrown her arms around her neck and was kissing her firmly on her cheek, and the big white dress blocked Lizzy's view. She was about to crush one of the puffy sleeves to see over it, but Jane whispered in her twin's ear, "We're leaving, Lizzy. We're going upstairs for the night. We're not telling people because there will be about a million goodbyes to get through, but I'm telling you so you don't worry."

Smiling despite herself, Lizzy softened and backed away to get a good look at her sister: Jane was radiant. After all the dancing, the pins had loosened in her hair, softening the pull of the French twist; red wisps had fallen out to frame Jane's flushed, happy face. Jane smiled wider when Lizzy took the disposable camera from her sister's hands and snapped another picture.

Then Lizzy hugged her again, tightly, _really_ crushing the dress this time and not caring much. "Congratulations, Jane," she said. Lizzy had never seen her sister so happy. "I love you."

Jane looked at her sister for a minute and seemed to understand something Lizzy hadn't told her. Jane kissed her twin's forehead tenderly and replied, "I love you too. Very much. We…we'll always be sisters."

Lizzy nodded and hugged her sister for a third time, before she did something selfish, like cry. Then Jane turned, Charlie held out his hand, and Jane took it, beaming. And Will and Lizzy were alone together again. Dancing, as if they had never been interrupted.

"When are we getting married?" Will asked abruptly.

"Oh," Lizzy said, because she didn't know what else to say. Saying goodbye to her sister made the tight feeling come back to her chest, just between her lungs. "Someday."

"Lizzy." Will was scowling at her.

"Well, we won't if you keep looking at me like that," Lizzy said lightly.

"_Lizzy_." And he was very impatient.

"What?" Lizzy snapped. "Do you want me to set the date here and now?"

"Fine," Will replied curtly. "_Since_ when are we getting married?"

"Since that concert—the one I crashed," Lizzy said, resting her head on his chest so she wouldn't have to look at him yet. "I realized that it was you, and only you, so I figured I'd end up marrying you someday."

"That was _months_ ago. _Four_, in fact," Will reminded her sharply. "How is it that I haven't heard about it?"

"Well, I was waiting for you to ask me," Lizzy said. Leaning on Will, her head was turned toward the stairwell. It was half-blocked by a giant guitar-shaped ice sculpture, but she could still see Jane and Charlie dashing up it, trying not to be noticed.

"I seem to remember asking you that same night," Will said harshly. He pushed her away a little, holding her by the shoulders so that she'd look at him. There was a dangerous glint lurking in his eyes. "A proposal we've recently watched on _YouTube_. You said _no._"

"No," Lizzy said slowly, "I didn't _answer_. I just walked off the stage. I _haven't_ been answering for months. And you didn't _ask_. You _told_ me to marry you," Lizzy reminded him with an answering glare. "It's always 'Marry me,' or '_If_ you marry me,' or 'You _should_ marry me.' You haven't ever _asked._" She considered. "Or at least, since September."

Will ran his hand over his face, eyes closed. "God, Lizzy. Only you—" He didn't finish that thought. Not outloud anyway.

"If you ask me now," Lizzy said, "I'll say yes."

Will regarded her for a long moment, that same dark-eyed intense glare. When she felt her cheeks heat, Lizzy glanced back toward the staircase. Jane and Charlie were gone. None of the guests had seen them, or at least, none that would try to make a fuss about their departure. The tight feeling in her chest got so tight that she felt it clench as a lump in her throat. She turned back to Will.

"I'm not sure if I want to ask just now," he said roughly. "I feel I might lose my temper, if you don't explain yourself better than just that you didn't like the way I asked you."

"Okay," Lizzy said, head bowed. "Just give me a minute."

"A _minute_?" Will repeated impatiently. "Just how long will you—" Then he saw her face. "What's the matter? Did I—oh. _Jane_. Of course."

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said, looking at the floor, at Will's polished black shoes and her own blue pumps. "It's not that you're not… It's not that I'm not happy… It's just that it was me and Jane for so long, and now…"

"It's all right." Sighing heavily, he pulled her toward him, his hand cradling the nape of her neck, and kissed the top of her head tenderly. Leaning against him, three tears escaped Lizzy and trickled down her nose. "You don't have to explain anything to me. About your sister anyway."

Lizzy nodded, sniffing. She wiped the tears from the tip of her nose with her palm.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asked.

She shook her head, her forehead still resting on Will's chest. There would be less distractions sitting at the table. There would more people to notice her.

"Do you want to keep dancing?" he asked her.

Lizzy nodded. Will took her left hand in his right one and pulled her close with an arm around her back. When she finished wiping the last tears from her eyes with her thumb, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and they were dancing again.

The dance floor wasn't as crowded now; people were beginning to leave, disappearing into their own rooms for the night. The room had cleared some, and Will was taking advantage of the fact, whirling them swiftly around their own private corner. Lizzy guessed that this was the couple's version of Will's usual pacing, and she almost smiled. As they moved together, Will's thumb rubbed small circles on her back, and the tension in Lizzy's chest eased a little. She still missed Jane, part of her would always miss Jane and the years when it was just them, but this was nice too.

It didn't worry her so much now, the effect that Will had on her. She didn't mind anymore how much he'd managed to change her life. Two years ago, or even just one, her first instinct would have been to tuck herself into a lonely place to be upset in private, but it was simpler—it was _easier_—to stay with Will, even if he was a little mad at her.

It was probably justified, him being angry. It made perfect sense to her—to marry someone when he _asked_ and only when he asked, to refuse to start a marriage by letting her future husband boss her around, but Will wouldn't see it the way she did. Will almost never saw things the way she did. Especially in matters of matrimony. He was only going to understand that she hadn't wanted to marry him and now she did and he'd think she'd lied somewhere in the middle.

She might have been lying. But she was lying to herself as much as to him, so Lizzy wasn't sure that it counted.

She didn't know exactly how to explain it. She didn't know how to start. She wanted to reassure him first; she wanted him to know that the way she loved him hadn't changed, just the way she thought about it. She opened her mouth and sucked in a deep breath to tell him so, but jumped instead when she felt a hand—_not_ Will's, both of his were already occupied—on her shoulder.

Will sighed again and turned them slightly so that Lizzy could see Molly Brettman-Bennet watching her expectantly.

"I wanted to let you know," her stepmother told her, "I'm going to put your father to bed. He's gotten a little carried away with the celebration, and he's not really fit to be in public anymore."

Lizzy looked over to the table that the professor nodded towards and noticed through the few remaining couples that her father was slumped over the tablecloth, his head pillowed in his arms, his bald patch shining in the chandelier light, sleeping. Will looked too, and Lizzy felt him stiffen with disapproval. Then he sighed heavily, and she knew he was thinking of what it would have been like if his own father was still alive.

She smiled at her stepmother. "Okay. Um, my mother, was she—"

"Over there," said Molly, pointing across the room, where Mrs. Bennet was talking animatedly to her brother-in-law, motioning with the crystal glass in her hand. Uncle Jeremy seemed to be looking around for an escape, but Lydia was nowhere in sight. Lizzy hoped that she hadn't followed the young dark-haired man individual to his room. "I don't think she'll be bothering anyone else tonight."

"I saw you two talking," Lizzy said hesitantly, and Professor Brettman-Bennet's face became carefully blank. "It wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Terrible," said Molly, but now she was grinning. It was almost her husband's grin. "But nothing I can't handle, Lizzy. Thanks, though.—I don't think anyone told you, but we're staying for another couple days. We wanted to ski some while we're out here."

Lizzy felt Will stiffen again, silently; he didn't like that much either.

"But we won't be around much," the professor said, watching Will shrewdly. "We're staying on the other side of the mountain."

"You want to call us before you fly out?" Lizzy asked. "We could probably drive you back to the airport."

"We might have dinner," Will suggested, trying to be polite.

"We'll do that," Molly said and kissed her stepdaughter's cheek. "Goodnight, Lizzy. Good to see you, Will," she added before she turned away.

Lizzy couldn't resist taking a picture as Professor Brettman-Bennet returned to her husband: of Molly stroking Ben Bennet's head lovingly, of Lizzy's father lifting his head blearily, catching her hand in his. Lizzy turned and caught another one of Will: of his troubled, watchful frown, his eyes dark and searching hers, even through the camera.

"Are you all right now?" he asked, as she slung her camera back over her shoulder and stepped back into his arms.

Lizzy sighed. "Yeah."

"The ring," he said hesitantly, staring at their linked hands, where the blue diamond glittered between them. "You're wearing it on your left… How long--?"

"It travels," Lizzy said, matter-of-factly. "Originally it happened because I couldn't remember which side it was supposed to go on, and then…" Then there were the things that were hard to explain. "Just because."

"And I haven't noticed?" Will said, frowning at it.

"No," Lizzy replied. It was rare for her to wear the ring on her left hand in front of Will, but there were the times when she was careless, when she'd forgotten. Will hadn't looked then. "I moved it sometime last night." Because of the burn across the back of her right hand and a little across her fingers, but she didn't want to remind him of that. He already felt bad enough.

Will nodded slowly, still frowning but thoughtfully now. "I'm not angry, if that helps," he said, looking at her sharply. "Rather surprised and a bit confused, yes, but not angry."

And hurt, Lizzy knew, but he wasn't going to admit that, not now.

"It helps," Lizzy said, and Will nodded again, looking out at the other dancers again. Caroline was only a few couples away, draped across an older, well-dressed man a few inches shorter than herself. Either she'd finally given up, or she was both trying to make Will jealous and determined not to look at him. Desi Harper had disappeared.

"You know the Bucketheads?" Lizzy asked softly.

Will turned back to her, startled, his eyebrows raised high. "Well…yes."

"You know how their tour bus crashed? In September?" Lizzy said, watching him.

"Yes, I do remember," Will replied with the beginnings of a wary frown. "We _were_ talking about it just days ago."

"Well, I was watching the news that day," Lizzy said with a slow, even breath, "and the telecasters did that thing where they announced that a band had been killed in the middle of their tour and then told you to stay tuned for the details through the next commercial break."

"All right…" Will said slowly, thinking it over, staring at the space above her head. "Ah," he realized, looking at her again. "You thought it was us?"

Lizzy nodded. "I couldn't wait for a commercial break, so I called you."

"I don't remember that," Will said frowning.

"You didn't answer," Lizzy explained. "You were in the middle of a sound check. I know, because I called Maggie next and she told me. I was kind of freaking out by that time, and she had to calm me down."

"She didn't tell me that," Will said, his tone sharp with disapproval.

"I asked her not to," Lizzy admitted, hoping Maggie wouldn't get a lecture soon.

"Now, why would you do that?" Will asked, narrowing his eyes, his mouth tight and drawn.

Lizzy shrugged. "I saw you just a few days later. I could handle the dreams for a couple nights, but I needed to see you. So I bought a plane ticket and flew out to your next concert."

"And snuck in," Will added darkly.

"Yep," Lizzy said defensively.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me, Lizzy," Will said sharply. "You—wait, what dreams?"

Lizzy stiffened and looked away. She still didn't want to talk about the dreams.

"_Lizzy_," Will said, pulling her closer to him, so swiftly that she looked up at him, startled. "_What _dreams? The nightmares?"

"Who told you I've been having nightmares?" Lizzy asked suspiciously.

"Your nightmares—they've been about me, haven't they?" he asked fiercely.

"Not _just_ you," Lizzy said, with a stubborn scowl.

"You've been having reoccurring nightmares where Fitz, Maggie, Charlie, and I drive ourselves over a cliff, is that it?" Will asked her, his scowl stern and very close to hers.

"Well, sometimes my mind gets more creative than that," Lizzy said absently. "There's also been airplane crashes, hurricanes, floods, earthquakes—"

"My God," Will breathed, and when Lizzy looked up, he was very pale, his mouth open and vulnerable. "So, last night—When you thought I wasn't coming back—"

"I've never actually had a dream where I lost you to a snowstorm," Lizzy said carefully, watching Will's face, "but I hope it explains why I got so upset."

"My God," Will said again, bending his head, looking down, to the side, and then to her face anxiously. "I feel like such an ass. I had no idea; I was such a complete—" He stopped and looked down again, again with the troubled, anxious frown.

"It's okay," Lizzy said gently, reaching up to stroke his face gently, right where his jaw met his neck. "You didn't know. I didn't tell you. There was no way you could've known."

Will sighed deeply and nodded, and he pulled her even closer, his arm tight around her waist, her cheek pressed to his chest, his chin on her head. "I _am_ sorry, Lizzy. I'm so sorry."

Lizzy smiled slightly, thinking of all the practice he was getting today. Then the smile faded. "I know," she said softly. "Don't worry about it."

She felt Will nod a little above her head, but it was one thing to say and a whole different thing to try to do it. She sighed and went up on tiptoes to kiss him lightly, just under his chin, but Will only sighed again.

"Why _didn't_ you tell me, Lizzy?" he asked quietly, his voice deep and slow.

Lizzy curled into his chest more comfortably; she closed her eyes and swallowed. "I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?" Will said sharply. He didn't believe her. "To tell _me_?"

"Well, I'm a grown woman; I'm not _supposed_ to be bothered by nightmares," Lizzy said with a disgusted grimace.

"If it lasts four months," Will told her grimly, "it's bound to be more than only being 'bothered by nightmares.'"

"There was also the suspicion that somebody was going to want to send me to a shrink," Lizzy said lightly.

"Lizzy, I love you," Will reminded her. "I would never think you childish or crazy."

Her nose prickled. Lizzy closed her eyes before they filled with tears.

"Promise me that you'll tell me next time something bothers you so much," Will said firmly. "Especially if it concerns me."

"I told you, didn't I?" Lizzy said.

"Tell me sooner then," Will amended. "Don't wait four months."

Lizzy set her mouth stubbornly, her breath coming quick and sharp through her nose.

"Please," Will said, his voice low. "Promise me."

"All right," Lizzy sighed. "I promise."

"Thank you," he said, and Lizzy felt his lips brush the top of her head again. He pulled her even closer, curling his body over hers, pressing himself tight to her, until his hold was more of an embrace than a dance. Lizzy closed her eyes again and felt her body relax against him.

She couldn't remember a time when she felt so safe. It couldn't be so bad if she felt this safe.

"So…you didn't feel like you could agree to marry me, because you were afraid that I would die before the wedding day?" Will asked, carefully bland.

Lizzy snorted. "I hope that was a joke."

"It was," Will said swiftly.

"Good. It wasn't funny," she informed him stoutly, looking up sternly to let him know how much she meant it.

"Right," he said decisively. "No more morbid jokes." He offered her a small, abashed grin. "Got it."

"It's weird for me, you know," she told him thoughtfully. "Getting serious about stuff like marriage at my age."

"_At your age_," Will scoffed, rolling his eyes irritably. "Your sister is your age, your _exact_ age, pardoning mere minutes."

Lizzy ignored that. "Think back four years, or even just three. Did _you_ want to be thinking about marriage about my age?"

"No, I must confess I only began thinking about marriage when I was twenty-four," Will said, keeping his face carefully blank, forcing his tone to be light. "When I met you."

It was almost an accusation, and Lizzy watched him shrewdly, defensively, until he sighed, softening.

"It scared me," Lizzy admitted quietly. "That I was depending on you so much."

It was enough to make Will smile, just slightly. "That _is_ what's supposed to happen," Will reminded her, bemused. "When two people love each other, they're eventually to come to trust and depend on one another."

"_Thanks,_ Will," Lizzy grumbled. "Like I _really _need love lessons from you right now."

"Come now, Lizzy," Will said gently, laughter blooming just under the mock-seriousness in his voice. "It's not as if you depend on me all that much. You're never been one to be dependent."

Lizzy hitched her chin and glared up at him until the laughter started to fade from Will's eyes. "After New York, when you were working on that Saturday Night Live deal, it took me _two weeks_ to get used to sleeping alone again," she said. "I had to pad one side of the bed with pillows so that I could sleep."

"But we were only there for five days," Will protested, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

"I _know_," Lizzy said. "It doesn't take me long. I _do_ trust you, Will, and I _do_ depend on you. More than anyone else. And I really don't like the idea of what I'd be like if you were suddenly not around."

"Lizzy, you're the strongest person I've ever known," Will said frowning. "I can't imagine you losing that strength, because someone died. Anyone," he added firmly, even Lizzy started glaring again, "even me."

"Well, maybe I was wrong," she snapped. She felt her legs start to tremble under her, the shivers traveling up her spine, and she hated it. "But I have a right to be scared, don't I?"

"Yes," Will said mollified, holding her tight again. He'd noticed it, the shaking. "Of course."

She couldn't stop shuddering, and Will's hand drew long, slow circles on her back. They weren't really dancing anymore, just holding each other tightly and swaying absently to the music. "I wouldn't be the same if I lost you," she said firmly, but now her voice was shaking too. "I don't care what anyone says, I don't care if I'd recover or not; I wouldn't be the same."

"I understand," Will said quietly, his cheek on top of her head, his arms tight around her shoulders. Lizzy closed her eyes and held him as tight as she had the night before, as tight as she could, like she'd never let him go.

She wouldn't cry. There had been enough of that recently. Besides, this was a good thing. She was supposed to be happy, not worried, not anxious.

Will had his hands around either side of her face. He was kissing her—brief, light kisses on her forehead, her temple, down her neck. One tear escaped, despite Lizzy's efforts, despite her eyes squeezed shut, and Will kissed it from her cheek, kissed the corner of her mouth, then her lips, brief at first and then a long, slow, lingering kiss.

"Lizzy," he said quietly.

Lizzy waited, feeling stubborn and rebellious and like she should fight something.

"Lizzy," he said again so that she would look at him. She opened her eyes, wiping them on her palms, and looked at Will. He was watching her with that familiarly intense, dark-eyed gaze. "Lizzy, will you marry me?" he asked.

Lizzy smiled, relaxing against him. "Yes," she said decisively and lifted her chin, lifting her mouth toward his.

Will grinned and kissed her again, joyfully, running his hands over her hair and down to the small of her back.

"Not right away, though," Lizzy told him worriedly, in case he misunderstood.

"Yes, of course," Will said, smoothing seriousness into his face to show her that he knew what she meant. Then, he was grinning again, and kissing her again, his hand gentle and warm against the side of her face. Lizzy kissed him back, smiling now against his mouth, her hand cupping the nape of his neck, keeping his face close to hers.

"But it's not that I'm scared," she wanted him to know, when they broke the kiss. "I mean, it _is_ still scary, but that's not why. I want to be a little better established," she explained, "and I'm not successful enough to support apartments here _and_ in England. And—"

"And you don't want Fitz to tease that you're only copying your sister," Will finished with a sly grin.

"Well, yeah…" Lizzy admitted ruefully, and Will laughed and kissed her again swiftly.

He stopped mid-kiss, just as Lizzy began running her fingers through his hair, and she frowned when he started to stare at her. "In _England_?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. If we're going to be over there, I'm going to need something to keep me occupied," Lizzy said, feeling a smile growing across her face.

"Occupied?" Will said blankly.

"Why do you think I've been taking all the shoots in Europe they've offered me?" she asked and laughed again when Will kissed her happily.

"But you've got a place in England," Will reminded her eagerly. "You've always had a place."

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "Pemberley's kind of a far commute to London."

"We've got a place there, too," Will said excitedly. "Or Giana does. My mother left it to her. I'm sure she'll lend it to you. Or if you're determined to be independent, she'll rent it to you for an absurdly low fee. Two bars of chocolate or something equally—"

Lizzy got tired of waiting him out and dragged him mouth firmly down to hers.

"I suppose we could work the details later," Will murmured, his voice very low, his eyes very bright, his mouth very close to hers.

"Yep," Lizzy said and returned to her tiptoes for another kiss.

"Lizzy!" Will cried, grinning widely. "Lizzy, we're going to grow old together."

"Yep," Lizzy replied happily, moving closer to Will's mouth.

"Lizzy, we're going to have children," he said gleefully. "How many children would you like to have?"

Lizzy dropped back flat on her feet abruptly, and Will watched her worriedly. "Okay, that's going to come way later," Lizzy said sternly.

"Certainly," Will said mollified.

"And until you can work it so that it's _you_ that carrying around an extra person for nine months," Lizzy added, just to clarify, "you're not allowed to pressure me on this."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Will said with a small, bemused smile, stroking her cheek with a hand at the side of her face. When Lizzy lifted her face toward his, he kissed her again, but only had time for a brief caress before Lizzy dropped back down and decided, "Three, though. I was thinking three kids would be nice."

"Three? Really?" Will asked enthusiastically. "I was thinking three. With two, it can still be lonely, but three siblings—"

"Unless we have twins," Lizzy continued. "Because the twins would just gang up on the third one, and that's not fair."

Will blinked. "Twins?"

"They run in my family," Lizzy explained with a small smile.

"We could have _twins_," Will whispered stunned.

"Hey, you want to get out of here?" Lizzy asked her fiancé.

"Get out of…What?" Will asked with a bewildered frown.

Lizzy grinned, grabbing the hand that Will had held against her cheek. "Yeah, almost everybody's gone. You wanna go to the cabin?"

"No," Will said slowly, shaking his head at her a little, wide-eyed and still stunned. "No, I don't believe I want to share you with anyone just yet."

Lizzy laughed and reached up to kiss him swiftly. "Who? Giana and Jimmy have gone to Bozeman, and Jane and Charlie managed to book a suite upstairs."

Will stared at her, wide-eyed still, beginning to work it out.

"And Fitz, Maggie, and Zarine are in the guest cottage," Lizzy continued with a widening grin. "Which means that tonight, we've got a ridiculously large cabin all to ourselves."

Will blinked several times and then, as if he'd thought of it all by himself—" I think we should go to the cabin," he suggested, "our _private _cabin."

Lizzy grinned as Will began to lead them to the front entrance with long, purposeful strides. "Looks like the guest shuttle's going to leave in about three minutes," she said, glancing at the grandfather clock at the other side of the room.

"Then we'll have to hurry," Will said and quickened his pace, taking them on the path through the tables farthest from where her mother sat, still badgering her Uncle Jeremy. At the guest closet, just inside the entrance, Lizzy scooped up her long underwear and her camera bag from the floor, and Will settled his overcoat around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her forehead. She didn't protest: her dress had been warm enough during the ceremony, but that was in daylight and she'd cut it up since then.

"Will," Lizzy chirped, as he guided them out of the closet and toward the double wooden doors of the entryway, his hand at the small of her back, "I've got something to tell you."

"Hmm?" he replied expectantly. There was a shadow of a smile around his mouth, a hint of laughter in his tone.

"I love you," Lizzy said with a gleeful smile.

Will paused just long enough to kiss her, his arm tight across her back. "I love _you_, Lizzy."

"Good answer," Lizzy said cheerfully, watching Will go to the door.

He held it open, smiling so widely that Lizzy stopped to snap a picture: of Will, joyful and eager, the door open between them, the winter wind blowing his hair slightly as he watched her.

"May I take the liberty of asking when I'll have the pleasure of being your husband?" he asked hopefully.

Lizzy laughed, zipping her camera away in its case and slinging it over her shoulder, looking outside. It was night out there, mostly dark, but the day-old snow threw the reflected moonlight back into the air, giving everything a gentle glow. She could see the parking lot, the cars in it, and the headlights of the shuttle coming their way, but the rest—the mountain, and the valley beyond it—were just dim, unfamiliar shapes in the distance. She turned back to Will.

"Let's just take one thing at a time, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said, taking his hand with a smile. Then she walked out in the cool night air, tugging Will along with her.

The End

_Author's Note: That's it! There will be some revisions, of course—so if anyone has any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear/read them. But as far as the story goes, it's all over (or just beginning, depending on your perspective). I really want to thank everyone who reviewed. I'm glad you enjoyed reading it; I really had a lot of fun writing it. But I never expected to get this many reviews, and I don't think I could have written this so quickly if you guys hadn't encouraged me so much. So really, thank you very much. _

_Hurrah! Have a great year at school, everybody who's going/has gone back (I just got back)! And have a great fall! _

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